ROSAMA. 


SCENES  ^  IN  BOSTOS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


ROSANNA; 


OR 


SCENES    IN    BOSTON 


A  STORY. 


BY    THE    AUTHOR 

OF  "THREE  EXPERIMENTS  OF  LIVING,"  "THE  CONTRAST,  OB 
MODES  OF  EDUCATION,"  ETC. 


"  It  'a  the  privilege  of  few  authors  to  contribute  largely  to  th» 
general  good  ;  but  almost  every  one  may  contribute  something,  if  this 
is  his  sincere  and  honest  purpose." 


WRITTEN  AND  SOLD  FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  INFANT 
SCHOOL  IN  BROAD  STREET,  BOSTON. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

PUBLISHED   BY    JOHN    OWEN. 
1839. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by  JOHN 
OWEN,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of 
Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
FOLSOM,    WELLS,  AMD    THURSTOtf. 


PS 
£3  lo 


R  OS  AN  N  A. 


CHAPTER  I. 

'"r  j        i  i£'iv  • 

"  O  happy  is  the  man,  who  hears 

Instruction's  faithful  voice; 
And  who  celestial  wisdom  makes 
His  early,  only  choice." 

IN  every  city  there  are  places  for  the 
poor ;  we  do  not  allude  to  almshouses, 
hospitals,  or  even  those  doubtful  schools 
of  reform,  houses  of  correction;  but 
places  where  they  naturally  resort  for 
cheap  rent,  where  they  collect  together, 
and  can  have  some  of  the  pleasures  of 
society  without  crossing  the  threshold 
of  the  outer  door.  There  would  seem 
to  be  obvious  advantages  arising  from 
three  or  four  families  occupying  one 


1732020 


4  ROSANNAj 

house  and  one  yard.  Many  good  offices 
might  be  exchanged;  the  children  might 
be  taken  care  of  by  one  of  the  mothers 
alternately,  and  the  other  mothers  left 
at  liberty  to  pursue  their  daily  employ- 
ments, and  earn  a  comfortable  living. 
Yet  there  is  too  much  reason  to  sup- 
pose, that  there  is  seldom  good  fellow- 
ship where  people  are  so  situated.  We 
hear  of  strife  and  ill  will  among  them ; 
and  they  reject  the  most  important  thing 
that  they  can  have,  like  water,  without 
paying  any  price  for  it. 

This  one  thing  is  wisdom.     We  are 
told,  in  the  Bible,  that  it  is 
"  Better  than  gold," 
"  Better  than  strength," 
"  Better  than  weapons  of  war." 
We  are  also  told,  that 
"  Fools  despise  it," 
"  Fools  die  for  want  of  it." 
Now  we  certainly   ought   to   be  in- 
formed what  is  meant  by  wisdom.     Let 


* 

OR    SCENES  IN    BOSTON.  5 

us  go  to  the  Bible  again,  and  search. 
We  are  there  told,  that 

"  It  is  the  fear  of  God," 

"  It  is  meekness," 

"  It  is  holiness," 

"  It  is  purity." 

The  poor  can  get  this  pearl  beyond 
price  as  well  as  the  rich,  for  it  does  not 
come  by  money,  or  by  book-learning; 
it  comes  from  the  fear  of  offending  God, 
which  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  There 
are  none  who  have  reason  and  intellect, 
or,  in  common  language,  their  right 
minds,  who  do  not  understand  what  the 
fear  of  offending  God  means.  For  in- 
stance, none  can  believe,  if  they  are 
guilty  of  theft,  of  intemperance,  of  neg- 
lect of  their  families,  of  profaneness,  of 
cruelty  to  animals,  or  immorality  of  any 
kind,  that  they  are  not  offending  God. 
No  one  can  say,  "  I  did  not  know  this 
was  wrong;"  for,  whether  they  are  Cath- 
olics or  Protestants,  all  in  this  city  can 
1* 


* 

6  ROSANNA; 

have  religious  instruction,  if  they  seek  it. 
The  only  excuse  that  they  can  make, 
is,  "  I  did  not  think  " !  A  miserable  ex- 
cuse, when  God  has  given  us  minds  to 
think  with.  It  would  be  just  as  wise, 
to  walk  into  the  fire  or  the  ocean,  and 
say,  "  We  did  not  think  " ! 

People  who  are  good-tempered,  in- 
dustrious, and  honest,  have  laid  in  a 
stock  of  wisdom,  which  is  as  necessary 
for  their  comfort  as  fuel  is  for  winter. 

Whether  families  live  together  in  a 
palace,  a  house,  or  a  cellar,  they  are 
what  is  called  a  community.  They  are 
like  a  town  or  a  city,  where  all  should 
strive  for  the  general  good.  It  often 
happens,  that  one  may  be  more  enlight- 
ened than  the  others.  In  that  case,  that 
one  is  bound  to  use  his  influence  in  sow- 
ing the  seeds  of  wisdom,  which,  in  time, 
will  spring  up  and  bring  forth  fair  fruit. 
The  Bible  says, 

"  There  was   a  little  city,    and  few  * 


f"  \\     ' 
OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  7 

men  within  it ;  and  there  came  a  great 
king  and  besieged  it,  and  built  great  bul- 
warks against  it.  Now  there  was  found 
in  it  a  poor  wise  mant  and  he  by  his 
wisdom  delivered  the  city. 

"  Then  said  I,  Wisdom  is  better  than 
strength ;  the  words  of  wise  men  are 
heard  in  quiet  more  than  the  cry  of  him 
that  ruleth  among  fools. 

"Wisdom  is  better  than  weapons  of 
war;  but  one  sinner  destroyeth  much 
good." 

In  a  very  small  yard  there  lived  sev- 
eral families.  It  is  only  with  three,  how- 
ever, that  we  are  to  become  acquainted. 
In  one  house  there  were  four  apart- 
ments, two  lower  and  two  upper  ones. 
The  lower  were  much  the  best,  indeed, 
but  for  a  flight  of  steps,  resembling  a 
ladder,  which  led  out  of  the  centre  of 
the  room  into  the  garret  above.  One 
of  these  garrets  was  tenanted  by  Rosan- 
na  M°Carty  and  her  two  children.  It 


8  ROSANNA; 

was  not  a  very  comfortable  place ;  for 
the  roof  slanted  down,  so  that  there 
was  but  one  spot  in  which  you  could 
stand  upright.  Rosanna  was  born  in 
Ireland,  and,  at  the  early  age  of  sixteen, 
was  induced  to  join  a  large  party  of 
emigrants,  who  came  to  this  country  on 
the  reception  of  the  following  letter. 

"  DEAR  JOHN, 

"As  it  is  jist  to  yourself  I  am  about 
writing,  I  hope  you  will  demane  yourself 
so  much  as  to  read  my  letter.  I  think 
it  is  but  fair  to  tell  you  I  have  got  a  great 
prospect,  so  that  all  of  you  may  come 
over  sea,  and  earn  a  portion.  We  had  a 
hard  time  of  it  aboard  ship, — a  great  deal 
of  mortal  sickness,  which  ended  in  death. 
Our  friends  Sam  and  Corny  were  thrown 
overboard.  Corny's  wife  behaved  her- 
self dacently  enough.  When  she  found 
he  was  clane  gone  to  the  bottom,  she 
wrung  her  hands,  and  cried,  '  Ogh  !  ogh !  ' 
O  wirrastreu !  O  wirrastreu,  ogh !  O 


OR   SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  9 

Catty  Corny,  that  ever  you  'd  live  to 
see  this  day  ! ' 

"The  Captain  at  first  seemed  very 
kind  to  poor  Catty,  and  so  he  brought 
her  a  sip  of  whisky,  and,  says  he, 
'Then  take  this  to  comfort  your  heart, 
my  poor  woman.'  Well,  Catty  jist  swal- 
lowed the  whisky,  and  then  it  was 
*  Ogh,  wirrastreu,'  worse  than  ever ;  and 
the  Captain  got  tired  of  goodness  won- 
derful soon,  and  so  he  told  Catty,  if  she 
kept  up  her  'Ogh,  wirrastreu,'  he  'd 
throw  her  overboard  after  Corny;  so 
that  seemed  to  ase  her  poor  heart  at 
once,  and  make  her  rasonable. 

"  Well !  we  landed  here  in  Boston, 
and  a  varry  fine  place  it  is ;  and  the 
first  thing  we  did  was  to  have  a  wake 
for  Corny  and  Sam,  jist  as  if  we  was 
in  old  Ireland.  There  was  ten  of  us 
got  together  in  a  tavern  ;  where  the  ^in- 
tleman  that  keeps  it  under  ground  in 
Broad  Street,  gave  us  as  much  whisky 


10  ROSANNA; 

as  we  wanted,  only  civilly  asking  us  jist 
to  pay  aforehand,  and  demaning  him- 
self to  drink  it  with  us ;  though  he  never 
has  been  a  step  in  the  old  country.  We 
thought  it  would  not  be  civil  not  to  ask 
Corny's  wife,  and  the  other  widowers, 
that  had  seen  their  husbands  and  chil- 
ders  thrown  overboard.  The  worse  luck 
for  us,  that  we  did ;  for  it  is  always  the 
women  that  make  the  most  noise.  I 
do  believe  you  might  have  heard  their 
voices  from  Ballynascrew  to  Cork.  Well, 
what  was  the  end ;  first,  the  landlord 
steps  up,  and  he  says,  says  he,  'Jin tie- 
men  !  them  are  women  must  n't  make 
sich  a  noise,  or  I  guess  we  shall  have 
the  watch  arter  us.  Now  this  was  putty 
hard  for  poor  Catty,  and  so  she  began 
'  Ogh,  wirrastreu,  ogh,  ogh,  ogh,'  louder 
than  ever;  and  then,  in  common  dacency, 
wq,  could  not  but  help  her  on,  it  seemed 
such  an  asement  to  her  poor  heart. 
Well,  in  the  midst  of  it,  sure  enough, 


OR  SCENES  IN    BOSTON.  11 

they  carried  us  all  off  to  jail.  I  don't 
know  how  they  got  me  there,  for  I  would 
not  demane  myself  to  move  in  the  mat- 
ter. They  kept  us  there  two  days,  and 
then  the  priest  heard  we  had  just  arrived 
from  the  old  country,  and  he  came  to 
make  us  a  call.  When  he  heard  what 
we  had  to  say,  and  found  we  were  only 
doing  our  duty,  he  contrived  to  get  us 
out  of  jail,  and  gave  us  varry  good  ad- 
vice, and  he  said  it  was  different  here 
from  the  old  country,  and  we  must  not 
drink  whisky.  It  took  all  the  money 
we  had,  to  have  the  wake  ;  so  it  was 
pretty  lucky  our  getting  a  berth  in  jail 
till  we  got  risted. 

"  Well !  the  priest  talked  a  time  to 
me,  and  when  he  found  out  I  'd  got  an 
edication,  and  when  he  see  my  hand- 
writing, he  seemed  to  have  a  respect 
for  me,  and  so  he  said,  if  I  'd  behave  my- 
self well,  he  'd  get  me  a  good  place ;  and 
then  he  asked  if  I  knew  how  to  take 


12  ROSANNA; 

care  of  horses ;  so,  says  I,  *  Plase  your 
honor,  there  is  n't  a  horse  in  Ballynas- 
crew  that  I  have  n't  backed  without  bri- 
dle or  saddle ; '  and  so,  says  he,  *  I  don't 
mane  that,  Jerry ;  I  mane,  can  you  drive 
a  carriage  ? '  So  says  I,  *  Plase  your 
Reverence,  it 's  jist  what  I  was  brought 
up  to.'  Then  he  seemed  to  look  kind 
of  doubtful ;  so  I  offered  to  take  my  oath ; 
but  he  said,  'No,  it  was  not  necessary.' 
Well !  he  got  me  an  excellent  berth  in 
a  rale  jintleman's  family,  not  one  of 
them  that  keeps  boarders  in  Broad 
Street,  but  that  lives  in  a  sort  of  palace. 
Now  I  assure  you,  on  the  honor  of  a  jin- 
tleman,  that  I  has  twenty  dollars  a  month 
for  only  demaning  myself  to  drive  his 
lady  about  and  take  care  of  the  horses. 
As  for  fare,  nobody  here  lives  on  pota- 
toes ;  they  only  has  a  few,  for  variety, 
with  their  turkeys,  and  chickens,  and 
pies,  and  puddings.  Now  I  want  you  to 
tell  Rosanna  Dalton,  bless  her  swate 


OR   SCENES    IN   BOSTON.  13 

face,  I  '11  get  her  a  place  to  ride  in  the 
carriage  with  the  children,  if  she  '11  jist 
come  over;  and,  if  she  sticks  at  that,  it 
is  her  own  fault  if  I  don't  make  her  my 
darling  wife.  Yours  to  sarve, 

JERRY  M'CARTY." 

It  may  well  be  supposed,  that  this  let- 
ter made  a  great  stir  in  the  old  world ; 
turkeys  and  chickens,  pies  and  puddings, 
with  potatoes  for  variety,  were  not  to  be 
resisted;  and  Rosanna,  whose  mother  had 
ten  children,  and  a  prospect  of  as  many 
more,  was  advised  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion, to  which  her  parents  made  not  the 
slightest  objection.  So  joining  about 
thirty  others,  who  came  in  search  of  for- 
tunes, she  arrived  safe  at  Long  Wharf 
in  Boston. 

Jerry  had  won  upon  his  master  by  his 

good  nature  and  coachman-like  qualities; 

and,  as    about   that   time   the   Yankee 

chambermaid  had  "given  warning,"  he 

2 


14  ROSANNA; 

was  able  to  get  the  place  for  Rosanna. 
She  had  the  true  Irish  face,  in  its  early 
innocence,  blue  eyes,  fair  hair,  and  rosy 
cheeks.  Though  ignorant  of  the  duties 
of  her  place,  she  was  desirous  of  learn- 
ing, and  soon  became  a  favorite  with  her 
mistress.  In  a  short  time,  however,  Jerry 
began  to  think  he  was  bound  to  fulfil  the 
other  part  of  his  promise,  and  make  her 
his  "  darling  wife."  In  vain  the  master 
and  mistress  advised  them  to  remain  con- 
tented, and  lay  up  their  wages,  till  they 
had  accumulated  something  to  begin 
with,  and  warned  them,  that  they  would 
lose  their  places,  should  they  marry. 
McCarty  had  promised  and  Rosanna  had 
consented,  and  there  was  no  reason  why 
they  should  not  be  married.  So  the 
priest  made  them  man  and  wife. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  follow  them 
through  the  next  few  years ;  it  would 
be  a  painful  task,  and  too  common  a  his- 
tory to  excite  much  interest.  For  a 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  15 

time  M°Carty  drove  a  hack ;  but  his  in- 
temperate habits  became  more  than  sus- 
pected. Their  children  rapidly  increas- 
ed in  number.  Rosanna  struggled  long 
with  poor  health,  maternal  cares,  and 
the  neglect  of  her  husband.  Heaven  at 
length  took  two  of  her  children ;  and,  at 
the  end  of  a  few  miserable  years,  she 
was  left  a  widow,  with  only  two  children 
remaining,  and  nothing  to  depend  upon 
but  the  labor  of  her  hands.  Once  Ro- 
sanna had  health,  spirits,  and  industry 
sufficient  to  have  enabled  her  to  earn  a 
comfortable  living;  but  her  spirit  was 
crushed,  her  health  impaired,  and  all 
about  her  bore  that  appearance  of  hope- 
less indigence,  which  too  plainly  indi- 
cated, that  Jerry's  example  had  had  a 
fatal  influence  on  his  young  wife. 

Rosanna  was  not  a  drunkard  in  its  worst 
sense.  As  yet  she  had  not  learned  to 
carouse  on  the  intoxicating  draught;  but 
she  sometimes,  on  her  way  home  from  a 


16  ROSANNA; 

hard  day's  work,  bought  a  gill  of  the  li- 
quid fire,  not  because  she  loved  the  taste, 
but  because  when  swallowed,  it  brought 
insensibility  to  the  wants  and  hard  strug- 
gles of  life,  for  a  night.  But  morning 
must  come,  and  how  dearly  has  that 
deep,  that  deathlike  sleep  been  bought? 
Another  step  towards  destruction  has 
been  taken,  showing  itself  in  the  aching 
head,  the  blood-shot  eyes,  the  irritable 
frame.  Poor  Rosanna!  was  there  no 
friend  near  to  counsel,  aid,  and  assist  her? 
Young,  in  a  strange  land,  unable  to  write 
or  read,  with  feeble  health,  and  two  chil- 
dren depending  on  her  for  food!  We 
can  scarcely  imagine  a  more  deplorable 
situation.  Those,  who  were  in  the  habit 
of  employing  work-people,  looked  scof- 
fingly  at  her,  as  she  offered  her  services. 
The  time  had  passed,  when  her  active 
step,  her  light  form,  and  neat  dress, 
would  have  recommended  her;  though 
yet  only  twentjr-three,  the  beauty  of 


OR   SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  17 

youth  had  fled.  She  wore  over  her  still 
fine  hair  a  dirty-white  cotton  cap,  with  a 
wide,  flaunting  border.  A  shabby  plaid 
cloak  concealed  more  shabby  garments 
beneath;  her  hands  and  naked  arms 
pushed  through  the  ragged  arm-holes, 
and  her  shoes  were  down  at  the  heel. 
The  disorder  of  the  outward  dress  is  a 
sure  indication  of  that  within;  for  neat- 
ness is  one  of  the  fruits  of  wisdom. 

We  must  now  look  at  the  resident  in 
the  room  below.  And  this  was  "  Cor- 
ny's  widower,"  as  McCarty  called  her. 
She  was  many  years  older  than  Rosan- 
na,  and,  we  regret  to  say,  her  habits 
were  worse  ;  inasmuch  as  they  had  been 
longer  growing,  and  their  roots  had 
struck  deeper. 

There  was  perfectly  good  fellow- 
ship between  these  unfortunate  women. 
Catty  Corny  had  the  kind-hearted  feel- 
ings of  her  nation.  She  had  never  for- 
gotten her  early  obligations  to  McCarty ; 
2* 


18  ROSANNA;      »   rl 

for  she  said,  "  He  was  jist  the  one  that 
launched  her  darling  husband  overboard, 
when  he  was  clane  gone,  and  was  n't  he 
the  one  that  got  up  the  true  Irish  wake?" 
She  repaid  her  obligations  by  her  kind- 
ness to  Rosanna.  She  became  answer- 
able for  the  rent  of  the  two  rooms,  and, 
when  Rosanna  could  not  earn  her  fifty 
cents  at  the  week's  end,  Catty,  who 
was  strong  and  able  to  wash,  paid  the 
whole.  She  was  always  willing  Rosy's 
children  should  stay  with  hers,  if  the 
mother  could  get  employment.  So  far 
she  was  a  true  friend. 

In  the  same  yard  was  another  dwell- 
ing which  aspired  only  ten  feet  above 
the  ground.  It  had  a  cleaner  and  neater 
aspect  than  the  one  we  have  mentioned. 
This,  too,  was  inhabited  by  an  Irish  wo- 
man and  her  children.  What  particu- 
larly distinguished  it  from  the  one  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  yard  was  the  clean- 
liness round  the  door.  Corny's  always 


OE   SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  19 

had  a  puddle  of  dirty  water  under  the 
window,  and  another  before  the  door, 
and  this  was  easily  accounted  for ;  for  Ro- 
sanna  emptied  the  water  from  her  win- 
dow, and  Catty  found  it  much  easier  to 
drag  her  tubs  to  the  door  and  give  them 
a  push  over,  than  to  dip  her  dirty 
suds  out  by  pailfuls,  and  carry  it  to  the 
common  sewer,  as  Dora  M°Cree  did,  the 
occupant  of  the  ten-foot  building.  The 
truth  was,  Dora  loved  order  and  neat- 
ness, and  it  was  quite  a  trouble  to  her 
to  see  those  puddles  of  dirty  water  al- 
ways before  her,  filled  with  bricks  and 
stepping-stones,  which  Catty  said  were 
"  convanient,  jist  to  save  wetting  their 
feet."  The  yard  was  nearly  enclosed  by 
buildings  that  fronted  on  other  streets,  and 
the  only  exit  was  by  a  narrow  footpath. 
All  the  three  women  were  equally  de- 
pendent on  their  own  labor;  but  Dora 
McCree  might  have  been  thought  the 
worst  off,  as  she  had  the  largest  number 


20  ROSANNA; 

of  children,  and  the  youngest  were  twins 
of  two  years  old.  She  had  not  inhabit- 
ed the  ten-foot  building  long,  and  was 
considered  unsociable  by  her  neighbours, 
and  always  busy  about  nothing.  Mrs. 
Corny  said,  "No  wonder  she  could  not 
find  time  for  a  little  bit  of  chat;  for  she 
understood  nothing  at  all  of  turning  off 
work,  and  it  seemed  to  her,  that  she 
scrubbed  her  floors  for  the  pleasure  of 
it."  Catty  might  well  say  so,  for  she 
certainly  had  herself  a  surprising  faculty 
of  turning  off  work.  She  got  through 
her  washes  in  a  very  short  time ;  but,  as 
she  did  little  more  than  throw  her  clothes 
into  the  tub,  wring  them  out,  and  hang 
them  on  the  fence  to  dry,  it  was  often 
doubtful  whether  they  looked  better  or 
worse  for  the  washing.  As  for  plates, 
spoons,  and  cups,  she  said,  "It  stood 
to  reason,  that  it  did  no  good  to  clane 
them,  as  they  would  get  dirty  again." 
Dora  M°Cree  was  a  kind-hearted  wo- 


OR   SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  21 

man,  and  wished  to  promote  kind  feel- 
ings ;  and,  when  she  found  that  Mrs.  Cor- 
ny called  her  unsociable,  she  invited 
her  and  Rosy  to  pass  an  hour  with  her. 

The  invitation  was  cordially  accepted 
by  Corny's  widow,  who  had  never  had 
a  fair  opportunity  of  finding  out  any  thing 
about  Dora's  concerns.  When  she  re- 
ceived it,  she  was  putting  her  children  to 
bed;  but, in  her  impatience,  she  tumbled 
them  into  bed  with  their  clothes  on,  as 
she  often  did  ;  saying,  "  It  saved  a  world 
of  pains,  as  they  were  ready  dressed  in 
the  morning."  Then  telling  Rosanna  to 
bring  down  her  two,  and  they  could  all 
take  care  of  each  other,  the  mothers 
went  to  make  their  evening  visit. 

Catty  was  struck  with  Dora's  neat 
little  room.  It  strangely  contrasted  with 
the  dirt  and  confusion  of  her  own. 

"  Well !  I  declare,"  said  she,  as  she 
looked  round  her,  "you  must  spend  a 
world  of  time  tidying  up  ;  for  my  part,  I 
can't  find  time  to  set  things  to  rights." 


22  ROSANNAj 

"I  think  it  is  a  saving  of  time,"  re- 
,  plied  Dora,  "to  keep  things  in  their 
right  places." 

"  So  it  is,  if  people  has  their  rooms  to 
themselves ;  but  you  an't  situated  as  I 
am,"  said  she,  lowering  her  voice ;  "what 
with  my  own  darlings,  and  having  Rosy 
and  her  children  coming  through  when  I 
least  expect  it,  I  am  always  in  a  sort  of 
flurry." 

Rosanna,  if  she  heard  the  speech,  had 
probably  too  much  confidence  in  her 
friend's  real  kindness  to  take  exception 
to  it.  She  looked  very  pale,  and  Dora's 
kind  heart  was  moved  with  pity  towards 

her. 

"  Do  let  me    take  your  cloak,"  said 

she;  for,  though  it  was  an  evening  in 
July,  both  of  the  visiters  wore  their  plaid 
cloaks. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Rosy,  in  a  low 
voice,  but  faintly  coloring. 

"  Rosanna  is  jist  like  me,"  said  Catty, 


"V 

OR   SCENES   IN   BOSTON.  23 

who  probably  anticipated  her  turn ;  "  she 
always  likes  to  wear  her  cloak." 

It  is  not  the  nature  of  the  warm- 
hearted Irish  to  be  reserved.  Though 
this  was  a  first  visit,  Mrs.  Corny  soon 
gave  the  history  of  her  coming  from  the 
old  country;  of  the  death  of  her  husband 
and  two  children  ;  of  her  heart-breaking 
sorrow ;  of  her  loneliness,  and  how, 
when  poor  Rosanna's  husband  died,  she 
took  her  in,  and  put  up  with  all  the  in- 
conveniences of  having  her  come  through 
the  trap-door,  jist  because  she  belonged 
to  the  old  country.  When  she  had  fin- 
ished her  narrative,  which  lasted  nearly 
an  hour,  she  paused,  expecting  Mrs. 
McCree's  communication  in  return.  But 
Dora  did  not  seem  inclined  to  make 
any. 

"I  suppose  you  find  the  times  hard 
enough,"  said  Catty,  willing  to  help  her 
to  a  beginning. 

"  I  never  call  it  hard  times,"  replied 


24  ROSANNA; 

Mrs.  M°Cree,  "when  my  darlings  are 
well,  and  I  am  able  to  lave  them  for  a 
good  day's  work ;  but,  if  any  of  them 
are  sick,  I  must  run  behind  hand." 

"  We  poor  widows,"  said  Catty,  wip- 
ing her  eyes  with  the  inside  of  her  cloak, 
"is  much  to  be  pitied.  I  am  sure,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  me,  Rosy  might  have 
laid  down  in  the  street  and  died." 

"It  would  have  been  better  for  me,  if 
I  had,"  said  Rosanna,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Now  don't  say  so,"  said  her  friend, 
"'cause  you  know,  dear,  your  darlings 
would  have  died  too." 

"  It  would  have  been  better  for  them," 
said  Rosanna. 

"  Now  that  is  what  I  call  wicked,"  said 
Mrs.  Corny ;  "  she  mopes  and  takes  on 
in  such  a  manner,  that  it  is  enough  to 
wear  out  any  body's  patience,  and  all 
for  the  husband  that  is  dead  and  cannot 
come  to  life  again.  Ah!  Mrs.  McCree, 
you  and  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  left 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  25 

alone  with  a  family  of  children  ;  we  can 
feel  for  poor  Rosy,"  and  again  her  cloak 
was  applied  to  her  eyes.  Still  Mrs. 
McCree  did  not  seem  inclined  to  return 
the  confidence  of  her  visiter ;  but  turn- 
ing to  Rosanna,  she  said,  "You  do  not 
look  very  strong ;  are  you  able  to  work?" 

"  I  can  work  sometimes,"  replied  she ; 
"but  I  don't  find  people  willing  to  let 
me  be  running  home  every  two  or  three 
hours,  to  see  arter  my  poor  children; 
and  what  can  I  do  1 " 

"Now,  I  say  that  is  unhandsome," 
said  Mrs.  Corny.  "  Have  n't  I  told  you, 
over  and  over  again,  you  was  welcome 
to  shut  them  up  with  mine?" 

"  I  did,  you  know,"  said  Rosanna, 
"  till "  and  she  hesitated. 

"O,  yes,"  said  Catty,  "I  know  what 
you  mane ;  till  Lizzy  broke  her  collar- 
bone. Well,  that  was  an  accident  that 
could  not  be  helped,  and  she  is  getting 
over  it  now.  I  am  sure,  I  was  going  to 

3 


26  ROSANNA; 

give  Jim  a  sound  bating  for  pushing  her 
over,  and  I  should  have  done  it,  only 
he  looked  jist  then  so  much  like  his  own 
father,  that  is  dead  and  gone,  with  jist 
such  a  cast  in  his  eye,  that  I  could  not 
find  the  heart  to  do  it." 

"  It  would  have  done  no  good,"  said 
Rosanna ;  "  she  is  n't  getting  over  it ; 
she  never  will ;"  added  she,  sobbing. 

"  Now  don't  take  it  so  to  heart,  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Corny;  "what  if  her  head  is 
a  little  bit  on  one  side  ?  That  is  a  trifle. 
I  am  sure  it  is  nothing  to  the  scar,  that 
poor  Jim  's  got  on  his  cheek.  I  never 
will  forget  when  I  came  home  and  found 
him  covered  with  blood.  He  had,  some 
how  or  other,  got  hold  of  a  knife  that 
I  by  accident  left  on  the  table.  Ah,  the 
rogue !  he  's  jist  like  his  father  that 's 
dead,  always  getting  into  mischief.  How 
dry  it  makes  one  to  keep  a  talking; 
pray  Mrs.  McCree,  have  you  a  little 
drop  of  any  thing  to  drink  ? " 


OK  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  27 

Dora  handed  her  a  mug  of  water. 
Mrs.  Corny  wet  her  lips,  but  set  it  down, 
saying,  she  was  afraid  of  cold  water, 
that  it  never  agreed  with  her.  Rosanna 
seized  it  with  eagerness,  and  drank  a 
long  draught.  "  I  think  I  .  must  go," 
said  she,  slowly  rising,  "  Lizzy  will  want 
me." 

"I  think  we  both  may  as  well  go," 
said  Mrs.  Corny,  with  an  expression  that 
seemed  to  say,  "  for  we  shall  get  nothing 
here."  "  I  hope,  Mrs.  M  Cree,"  said 
she,  for  she  valued  herself  on  her  good 
manners,  "  that  you  will  return  my  visit 
very  soon;"  and  she  inwardly  resolved 
to  show  her  what  Irish  hospitality  was. 

When  they  returned  to  their  own 
dwelling  and  Mrs.  Corny  found  Rosan- 
na was  going  up  the  steps,  she  good- 
naturedly  stopped  her.  "  Now  jist  set 
down  with  me,  Rosy  dear,"  said  she. 
"The  children  are  all  sound  asleep, 
and  I  am  sure  you  must  be  a-dry  as  well 


>;;••:. 

28  EOSANNA; 

as  I.  As  good  luck  will  have  it,  I  have  a 
thimble-full  for  us  both.  You  will  feel 
all  the  better,  dear,  for  a  drop ;  you  are 
jist  so  low-spirited  to  night.  Come," 
said  she,  pouring  some  of  the  rum  into 
a  mug,  and  adding  a  little  water  to  it, 
"take  a  swallow." 

"  No,"  said  Rosy,  "  it  does  not  do  me 
good ;  it  sets  my  brain  on  fire,  and  dries 
up  my  breath." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  the  kind-hearted 
Mrs.  Corny,  "it  will  make  you  sleep 
sound." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Rosy;  and  she 
hastily  swallowed  the  draught.  At  that 
moment  she  heard  the  cry  of  the  child. 
"  Oh ! "  said  she,  starting  up,  "  that  is 
poor  Lizzy ;  she  has  got  one  of  her 
spells  of  pain." 

"  Take  her  up  a  drop,"  said  the  kind 
friend ;  "  nothing  will  quiet  her  so  soon," 
and  she  prepared  a  second  draught. 
Rosanna  took  it,  went  up  the  stairs,  and 


.     • 
OR  SCENES   IN  BOSTON.  29 

closed  the  trap-door  after  her.  The 
agonized  shrieks  of  poor  Lizzy,  and  the 
low,  soothing  voice  of  the  mother,  were 
for  some  time  audible,  but  they  did  not 
long  disturb  Corny's  widow.  The  thim- 
ble-full was  repeated  till  she  lay  asleep 
on  the  floor.  At  length  the  shrieks 
subsided  into  a  low,  wailing  moan,  the 
mother's  voice  could  no  longer  be  dis- 
tinguished, the  prescription  had  taken 
effect ! 


3* 


30  ROSANNA; 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  My  God,  who  makes  the  sun  to  know 

His  proper  hour  to  rise, 
And,  to  give  light  to  all  below, 
Doth  send  him  round  the  skies." 

THE  sun  arose  clear  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  its  beams  slanted  into  the  little 
yard.  They  glanced  first  on  Rosanna's 
window,  but  she  lay  asleep  with  her  two 
children,  one  arm  around  the  little  suf- 
ferer, and  Susan,  the  youngest,  on  the 
other  side  of  her.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed  and  her  respiration  laborious, 
yet  she  still  slept, — they  all  slept.  How 
much  of  youth  was  there !  and  there 
too  the  unextinguishable  spark  of  life, 
the  immortal  soul! 

The  sun,  the  glorious  sun,  the  bright 


OE  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  31 

image  of  its  Maker,  stayed  not  its  course; 
it  rose  higher  in  the  heavens  and  looked 
down  upon  Corny's  apartment  There 
she  too  lay  in  her  deep,  deep  sleep, 
stretched  on  the  floor,  the  tin  mug  by 
her  side.  Jim  had  just  awoke ;  he  raised 
himself  first  on  his  elbow,  and,  looking 
round,  his  eye  rested  on  his  mother; 
there  was  nothing  appalling  in  the  sight 
to  him,  he  was  too  much  accustomed  to 
it.  Suddenly  he  sprung  from  the  bed, 
seized  the  mug,  and  examined  it;  a 
portion  of  the  liquor  remained ;  he  raised 
it  to  his  lips,  but,  recollecting  his  little 
sisters,  he  went  towards  them  and  said, 
"  Wake  up,  Mary  and  Betsey  ;  look, 
mammy  has  left  us  some."  Mary  drank 
her  share,  but  the  sleepy  little  Betsey 
refused  to  rouse  herself. 

As  the  sun,  commissioned  by  its  Crea- 
tor, shines  on  the  evil  and  the  good,  and 

"  Never  tires  nor  stops  to  rest," 
we  must  not  be  surprised,  that  its  rays 


32  ROSANNA; 

were  partially  reflected  by  the  dirty 
little  pools  before  the  house,  while  it 
pursued  its  kindly  work  in  drying  Cor- 
ny's  wash  of  the  day  before.  By  this 
time  it  had  visited  Dora's  ten-foot  build- 
ing. It  did  not  find  her  windows  clos- 
ed ;  she  was  up  and  dressed,  though 
her  children  were  still  sleeping,  and  the 
fresh  morning  air  of  July  was  fanning  the 
healthy  and  innocent  faces  of  the  slum- 
berers.  Dora  was  cutting  slices  of 
bread,  and  preparing  their  breakfast  for 
them,  against  they  awoke.  On  the  table 
stood  a  little  crucifix,  and  every  time 
she  approached  it  she  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross.  When  her  preparations 
were  completed,  she  awoke  the  elder 
children,  assisted  them  in  dressing  and 
washing,  and  gave  them  their  breakfast. 
They  were  all  hungry  and  ate  what  was 
allowed  them,  but  followed,  perforce,  the 
excellent  rule  laid  down  by  physicians, 
of  leaving-  off  with  an  appetite.  When 


OE  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  33 

they  had  ended  their  simple  meal,  Dora 
said,  "Now,  my  jewels,  you  see  the 
holy  Jesus  there  before  you."  They  all 
crossed  themselves.  "He  was  once  a 
little  child,  as  you  are,  and  slept  in  his* 
mother's  arms;  but  he  did  not  come 
upon  earth  to  sleep ;  no,  he  came  to  do 
his  Father's  work." 

"  Does   he  see  us,  mother  ?  "    asked 
-one  of  the  children. 

"  To  be  sure  he  does,"  said  Dora ; 
"  he  is  looking  at  you  this  moment." 

Pat  began  to  move  his  head  this  side 
and  that. 

"I  think  he  don't  much  mind  us 
now,"  said  he.  "  I  can 't  see  his  eyes 
move." 

"  Oh,  Patrick !"  said  the  mother,  "  you 
are  but  a  child.  The  blessed  Jesus  is 
.  now  in  heaven  ;  he  sees  us  from  there. 
He  knows  when  we  do  wrong.  I  have 
told  you  how  he  came  upon  earth,  and 
how  wicked  men  crucified  him,  and 


34  ROSANNA; 

nailed  him  to  the  cross.  Ah !  you  see 
it  there." 

"Yes,  mother,"  said  the  children, 
"you  have  told  us  a  great  many  times." 

"  Ah !  my  jewels,  I  cannot  tell  you 
the  true  story  too  often,  and  how  he  was 
born  in  a  manger  among  cattle." 

"  Was  n't  he  afraid  they  would  hurt 
him  ?  "  said  Patrick. 

"Now,  dear,  don't  talk  so,"  said  the 
mother ;  "  but  you  are  only  a  child,  my 
darling.  No ;  his  mother  took  care  of 
him  ;  the  blessed  Virgin !  Oh,  my  chil- 
dren, we  will  grow  wiser  and  better 
when  we  talk  about  him  and  think  of 
him,  and  remember  that  the  holy  Jesus 
sees  you  all  the  time ;  which  I  can 't 
do,  for  I  must  go  to  my  day's  washing. 
Now,  which  of  you  will  be  the  ones  to 
watch  over  the  darlings  there,  in  the 
bed,  the  poor,  helpless  ones,  that  can't 
watch  over  themselves  ?  " 

"  We  will  all  be  them,"  said  the  chil- 
dren. 


OR   SCENES  IN    BOSTON.  35 

"Patrick,  my  boy,"  said  Dora,  "you 
must  go  to  the  ship-yard  and  pick  up 
chips ;  but  you  must  go  in  a  dacent,  re- 
spectable manner ;  and,  if  any  of  the  men 
are  there,  ask  lave,  so  that  they  may  see 
you  've  had  some  edication ;  and,  above 
all,  Pat,  don't  listen  to  any  bad  boys,  nor 
say  any  naughty  words." 

"  Mother,"  said  Patrick,  "  Jim  Corny 
says  wicked  words." 

"Then,  my  boy,  you  must  not  play 
with  him,"  replied  Dora.  "Don't  you 
know  what  the  hymn  says  ? 

'  My  lips  from  evil  speaking  guard.'  " 

"Do,  mother,  sing  us  that  hymn,"  said 
little  Nancy. 

"  Ah,  well,  my  darlings,  I  will  sing  it 
to  you.  You  are  jist  like  other  children ; 
don't  they  love  to  hear  their  mothers' 
voices,  even  when  they  don't  understand 
all  the  words?" 

The  children  gathered  round  her,  and 
she  sang  the  following  hymn,  which  she 


36  ROSANNA; 

had  learned  in  happier  days,  when  her 
mind  was  unclouded  and  her  memory 
bright. 

DORA'S    MORNING    HYMN. 

"  Again  the  morning  sun  dispels 
The  darkness  of  the  night ; 
Again  reviving  nature  feels 
The  cheering  beams  of  light. 

"  Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  day, 

Thy  steadfast  path  pursue, 
Let  no  vain  thoughts  around  thee  play ; 
But  inward  fix  thy  view. 

"  First  pay  thy  vows  to  Him  whose  care, 

Watched  o'er  thy  midnight  rest ; 
And  in  sincere  and  ardent  prayer 
Be  holy  faith  expressed. 

"  '  Father  of  love  !  thy  goodness  gave 

The  being  I  enjoy  ; 
O,  then,  from  guilt,  that  being  save, 
And  in  thy  praise  employ. 

"  l  Save  me  from  idle  discontent  ; 
Save  me  from  vain  desire  ; 


OR   SCENES   IN   BOSTON.  37 

Save  me  from  precious  time  misspent, 
And  virtuous  thoughts  inspire. 

"  '  O,  cleanse  my  breast  from  selfish  care, 

May  others'  wants  be  mine, 
And,  while  thy  gracious  gifts  I  share, 
A  part  to  them  resign. 

"  '  My  lips  from  evil  speaking  guard, 

Make  me  sincere  and  kind  ; 
And  from  my  breast  each  thought  discard, 
Which  others'  ill  designed. 

u  *  O,  make  me  humble,  just,  and  pure, 

To  lowly  merit  true  ; 
When  injured,  patient  to  endure, 
Like  Him  who  sorrow  knew. 

"  '  May  the  blest  memory  of  that  Friend, 

Who  gave  his  life  for  ours, 
An  influence  o'er  each  thought  extend, 
And  sanctify  my  powers. 

"  *  Father  !  this  day  thy  grace  impart ; 

O,  send  thy  Spirit  down  ! 
May  it  confirm  my  wavering  heart, 
And  make  thy  will  my  own.'  " 
4 


38  ROSANNA; 

It  was  thus  she  prepared  herself  and 
her  children  for  the  duties  of  the  day. 
Some  people  may  smile  at  the  idea  of 
children's  duties;  but,  as  soon  as  they  can 
understand  right  from  wrong,  the  mother 
can  teach  them  their  duty ;  and,  if  they 
are  yet  too  young  to  understand,  she 
may  guard  them  from  vice,  and  place 
around  them  her  vigilant  care.  Dora 
went  to  her  day's  washing  with  a  light 
heart,  for  she  committed  her  children  to 
their  Heavenly  Father,  to  the  blessed 
Jesus,  and  the  holy  saints.  She  tried 
every  morning  to  make  them  acquainted 
with  their  duties ;  she  provided  their  fru- 
gal food  for  them  in  a  clean  and  whole- 
some manner,  and,  whenever  it  was  pos- 
sible, she  looked  in  upon  them  at  noon, 
to  see  that  all  went  on  well.  Yet  Dora 
had  her  troubles ;  one  was,  that  her  chil- 
dren were  growing  up  without  learning. 
It  was  her  great  desire  to  send  Patrick 
and  his  eldest  sister  to  school;  but,  she 


OR    SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  39 

said,  "it  was  hard  enough  to  earn  her 
house-rent ;  and  who  would  take  care  of 
the  twins,  that  were  just  beginning  to  tot^ 
tie  about'?  and  their  meals  they  must  all 
have,  for  nobody  had  learning  enough  to 
live  without  eating." 

So  Dora  went  on,  from  day  to  day, 
scarcely  hoping  for  any  thing  better. 
There  were  lines  of  deep  care  on  her 
face,  and  she  often  sighed  bitterly.  Some- 
times she  would  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  wring  her  hands,  but  this  was 
in  the  calm,  still  evening,  or  in  the  silent 
watches  of  the  night,  when  her  children 
were  asleep ;  for  Dora  said,  "  they  would 
have  trouble  enough  of  their  own,  and 
she  was  not  the  one  to  lay  her  burdens 
on  another." 

Let  us  now  go  back  to  the  other 
dwelling,  where  we  left  the  two  mothers 
buried  in  deep  sleep.  Sleep  is  often 
said  to  be  the  image  of  death  ;  the  eyes 
are  closed,  the  whole  form  is  inactive,  and 


40  ROSANNAj 

the  person  unconscious  of  what  is  pass- 
ing. But  this  is  not  the  only  resem- 
blance. The  sleeper  must  awake  either 
in  this  world  or  the  other.  We  have 
heard  of  the  intoxicating  draught  ending 
in  the  sleep  of  death.  O,  what  a  fearful 
awakening  must  follow ! 

Rosanna  awoke  to  the  consciousness 
of  suffering,  with  an  aching  head  and 
disordered  system.  Lizzy,  too,  had  be- 
gun to  complain,  and  Susan  to  beg  for 
her  breakfast;  "Do,  mammy,  give  me 
something  to  eat." 

"Where  will  I  find  it?"  said  Rosan- 
na, and  she  looked  on  a  shelf,  and  open- 
ed a  cupboard,  merely  to  escape  for  a 
moment  from  the  child's  importunity. 
"You  had  the  last  piece  of  bread  for. 
your  supper,"  said  she,  with  a  despair- 
ing accent.  "  Oh,  what  will  become  of 
us?"  added  she,  wringing  her  hands. 

The  children  seemed  moved  by  the 
intensity  of  her  emotions,  and  clung  to 
her. 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  41 

"  Don't  cry,  mammy,"  said  Susan ;  "  I 
am  not  very  hungry  now.  I  don't  want 
any  breakfast." 

"  I  am  not  so  sick  as  I  was  just  now," 
said  Lizzy,  trying  to  suppress  her  tears, 
while  her  countenance  was  distorted 
with  pain. 

"  I  will  go  and  beg  for  you  my  dar- 
lings," said  Rosanna ;  "  I  will  crawl  to 
the  doors  of  the  rich,  and  ask  them  to 
take  pity  on  us,  for  we  are  starving." 

"Starve  you  shan't,  while  I  have  a 
bit,"  said  Catty,  raising  the  trap-door, 
and  putting  through  it  a  handful  of  cold 
potatoes.  "  Just  take  that  to  stay  your 
stomachs." 

Rosy  thankfully  took  the  gift,  but  with 
the  painful  feeling  that  she  was  robbing 
her  kind  friend. 

"Lizzy,  dear,"  said  Rosanna,  "do 
you  think  you  can  be  asy  to  let  me  go 

out  a  while  1 " 

4* 


42  ROSANNA; 

"I  don't  think  I  can  be  asy,"  said  the 
little  sufferer,  "  but  you  can  go,  mammy." 

Rosanna  put  on  her  plaid  cloak.  As 
she  passed  through  Mrs.  /Uorny's  apart- 
ment, she  said;  "You  will  take  a  look 
now  and  then  at  the  helpless  ones  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Corny ;  "  but 
where  are  you  going  1 " 

"To  beg,"  said  Rosanna,  turning  to- 
wards her  a  face  of  woe ;  "  and  if  I  can't 
get  bread  for  them,  it  is  not  their  own 
mother  that 's  the  one  to  see  her  chil- 
dren starve  ;  better  may  I  lay  down  and 
die." 

"  0 !  now,  honey,"  said  Catty,  "  don't 
be  talking  in  that  way.  There  's  one 
that  '11  never  see  you  starve,  and  that 's 
Catty  Corny,  who  will  always  be  a  true 
friend  to  you." 

Alas  !  poor  woman,  how  could  she  be 
faithful  to  Rosanna,  when  she  was  so 
faithless  to  herself?  Could  she  be  igno- 
rant that  she  was  treading  the  downward 


OR   SCENES   IN   BOSTON.  '  43 

path  to  destruction,  and  leading  her 
young  friend  with  her? — her  own  chil- 
dren too,  those  little  beings  that  God 
had  intrusted  to  her  care?  No!  she 
was  not  ignorant ;  there  were  times  when 
her  conscience  spoke  loudly,  and  she 
resolved  to  take  the  intoxicating  draught 
no  more ;  but  she  could  not  resist,  and 
still  her  steps  wandered  to  the  little 
grog-shop,  which  was  ready  to  accom- 
modate her  with  a  quantity  proportioned 
to  her  means. 

It  had  become  quite  a  merit  in  her 
mind  to  furnish  it  to  Rosanna,  who  was 
too  willing  to  receive  it,  and  who,  she 
said,  "  had  no  money  to  buy  any  thing 
comforting,  and  it  was  the  only  thing 
that  seemed  to  ase  poor  Lizzy." 

Thus  they  went  on  from  day  to  day. 
Had  Mrs.  Corny  exerted  half  of  her  in- 
tended kindness  and  generosity  in  as- 
sisting Rosanna  to  form  industrious  and 
temperate  habits,  she  would  have  been 


44  ROSANNA; 

a  true  friend ;  but  the  poor,  misguided 
woman  was  now  her  worst  enemy. 
Dora  JVTCree  had  but  little  communi- 
cation with  her  neighbours.  Though 
Catty  fully  intended  to  invite  her  to  a 
"  trate,"  and  show  her  what  Irish  hospi- 
tality was,  she  had  some  misgivings 
about  her  dirty  apartment,  and  said  she 
must  wait  till  she  "  found  time  to  mop 
up  the  floor,  and  to  tidy  the  room." 
But  for  this  rare  piece  of  cleanliness 
there  was  never  an  opportunity. 

The  little  Cornys  were  dexterous  at 
begging ;  and  Susan,  too,  was  furnished 
with  a  bag,  and  went  from  door  to  door, 
asking  for  cold  victuals.  Sometimes  Ro- 
sanna  got  a  job,  such  as  half  a  day's 
wash,  or  scouring  floors,  and  was  able 
to  pay  her  week's  rent.  It  was  a  miser- 
able life,  however,  that  she  led,  with  all 
Catty's  kindness,  and  the  occasional  aid 
that  Mrs.  M°Cree  and  other  neighbours 
afforded  her. 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  45 

Once  she  thought  of  imploring  charity 
from  the  lady,  with  whom  she  had  lived 
when  she  first  came  to  the  country ;  but 
a  sense  of  shame  prevented  her.  She 
remembered  the  place  she  had  held  in  the 
family,  and  how  kindly  she  was  treated  ; 
and  now  to  go  as  a  beggar,  she  said 
she  could  not  do  it.  It  was  not  of  pov- 
erty that  she  was  ashamed ;  for  she 
knew,  that  honest  poverty  had  often 
been  aided  by  the  lady  ;  but  she  was 
conscious  of  her  altered  appearance, 
which  too  plainly  indicated  her  intem- 
perate habits.  Catty  offered  to  go  and 
tell  Rosanna's  story,  and  ask  assistance ; 
but  Rosanna  delined  the  offer.  There 
was  more  of  refinement  left  in  her  man- 
ner of  thinking  and  feeling,  than  might 
have  been  expected  from  her  unhappy 
situation.  She  sometimes  thought  she 
might  do  better,  if  she  could  find  another 
residence.  Jim  Corny  was  a  great  trial 
both  to  her  and  her  children.  She  dared 


46  ROSANNA; 

not  leave  Lizzy  with  him,  for  it  was  one 
of  his  amusements  to  torment  her ;  not 
from  absolute  cruelty,  but  because  the 
poor  little  sufferer  was  easily  terrified  or 
made  angry,  and  it  was  an  excellent 
joke  with  him,  to  tell  her  the  house  was 
on  fire,  or  the  constable  coming  after 
her  to  put  her  in  jail,  when  she  could 
only  scream  without  being  able  to  move. 
Perhaps  his  compassionate  feelings  might 
have  been  touched,  had  any  one  repre- 
sented to  him,  that  this  was  real  suffer- 
ing to  the  little  girl,  and  adding  an  ad- 
ditional weight  to  that  calamity  of  which 
he  had  been  the  cause. 

But  Mrs.  Corny's  mode  of  education 
was  not  the  best  suited  to  produce  re- 
form. She  considered  all  Jim's  "little 
innocent  tricks  "  as  much  an  inheritance 
from  his  father,  as  the  "cast  of  his  eye"; 
and  though  she  sometimes  attempted  to 
chastise  him,  she  generally  gave  up  the 
point,  for  she  said,  "he  was  not  the  one 
to  stand  still  to  be  bate." 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  47 

Often  Jim  was  sent  to  the  shop  to  get 
the  bottle  filled,  and  was  rewarded  with 
the  thimble-fulls  that  his  mother  left  in 
the  mug,  generally  enough  to  excite  his 
mischievous  and  quarrelsome  propensi- 
ties, and  bring  out  the  perverse  and  evil 
passions  of  his  nature.  Every  way  it 
was  a  hard  case  for  Rosanna.  Mrs. 
Corny  was  the  only  friend  she  had  in 
the  wide  world,  and  she  would  never 
see  her  starve.  She  had  lost  her  self- 
confidence,  her  self-respect,  and  she  lived 
on  in  a  hopeless  state  of  degradation, 
scarcely  daring  to  leave  her  children  even 
when  she  felt  able,  or  had  the  opportu- 
nity to  work.  Susan  had  become  dex- 
terous in  begging ;  and,  though  but  little 
encouragement  is  at  present  given  to 
beggars,  her  uncommon  beauty  and  her 
destitute  appearance  often  filled  her  bag. 
She  one  day  met  a  lady  as  she  was 
going  towards  her  house.  The  lady 
stopped,  and  inquired  of  the  child  if  she 


48  ROSANNAj 

had  any  parents.  Susan  had  got  her 
story  by  heart,  for  she  had  told  it  many 
times ;  —  how  her  mother  was  a  widow, 
and  her  father  dead,  and  her  sister  Liz- 
zy had  broken  her  collar-bone,  and  her 
mother  could  not  leave  her  to  go  out  to 
work.  There  was  something  in  the 
child's  countenance  that  deeply  interest- 
ed the  lady.  "  I  will  go  home  with  you," 
said  she,  "if  you  will  show  me  the 
way."  Susan  readily  assented,  and  ran 
on  before,  sometimes  stopping  to  pick  up 
one  of  her  shoes,  sometimes  the  other, 
which  she  could  with  difficulty  keep  on. 
The  lady  asked  her  if  she  would  like  to 
go  to  school. 

"I  should  not  care  about  it,"  said  the 
child ;  "  no,  I  don't  want  to." 

"  And  why  not  ?  " 

"  'Cause  they  bate  'em,  don't  they  ?  " 

"O  no,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  laughing; 
"  they  are  kind  and  good  to  them,  and 
teach  them  to  read." 


OR  SCENES   IN   BOSTON.  49 

"  Then  I  should  like  to  go,  if  mammy, 
and  Lizzy,  and  all  the  Corny s  can  go, 
but  Jim."  .. 

"  We  will  see  about  it,"  said  the  lady  • 
"  but  why  must  not  Jim  go  ?  " 

"  'Cause  he  is  such  a  bad  boy,  and 
is  always  a  plaguing  us,  and  mammy 
says  he  says  wicked  words." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  why  he 
should  go  to  school,  that  he  may  grow 
better.  Is  Jim  younger  than  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Susan ;  —  "  why,  don't  you 
know  Jim  ?  he  is  a'most  a  man.  Mam- 
my says  he  is  seven  years  old,  and  he 
ought  to  know  better." 

"  But  how  can  he  know  better,  if  he 
is  not  taught.  Perhaps,  if  he  went  to 
school,  and  was  taught  what  is  right, 
he  might  grow  a  good  boy." 

"  Well,  he  may  go,"  said  Susan. 

When  they  arrived  at  Mrs.  Corny's 
dwelling,  Mrs.  Jones  felt  some  repug- 
nance at  crossing  the  dirty  puddle ;  but 

5 


50  EOSANNA; 

she  resolved   not   to   do   her  work  by 
halves,  and  resolutely  entered. 

At  the  door  stood  a  tub  of  dirty 
clothes,  half  covered  with  muddy  water. 
Under  a  table,  against  the  wall,  was 
thrown  another  heap  of  dirty  clothes,  in 
the  midst  of  which  lay  imbedded  an 
enormous  head  of  cabbage,  and  by  the 
side  of  it  a  broken  band -box.  The  bed, 
in  one  .corner,  looked  as  if  it  had  seldom 
been  put  in  order,  and  it  was  evident 
that  Catty's  cloak  was  the  coverlet  by 
night.  In  a  small  closet,  the  door  of 
which  was  open,  was  piled  a  quantity  of 
what  is  called  cold  victuals,  which  had 
been  emptied  from  the  bags  of  the  chil- 
dren, when  they  returned  from  their 
begging  expeditions.  The  floor,  as  may 
easily  be  supposed,  required  a  shovel, 
rather  than  a  brush,  to  clean  it.  On  one 
side  of  the  black  and  dirty  fireplace  was 
a  pile  of  chips,  potatoe-skins,  and  fish- 
bones. Catty  was  preparing  her  dinner, 
and  throwing  potatoes  into  a  pot  to  boil. 


OR  SCENES  IN   BOSTON.  51 

On  a  chair  near  her,  the  only  whole 
one,  lay  some  slices  of  pork. 

It  was  with  difficulty  the  visiter  could 
conceal  her  disgust,  but  she  accosted 
Catty  with  gentleness. 

"  Why,  sure,"  said  the  astonished  wo- 
man, "  the  lady  is  kind  to  visit  us ;  if 
I  had  a  known  you  was  coming,  I  would 
have  tidied  the  room ;  but  we  poor  folks 
must  get  along  as  we  can,  and  we 
have  n't  any  time  to  clane."  Catty  was 
too  civil  to  let  the  lady  stand,  and  she 
cleared  the  chair  of  the  pork,  sweeping 
it  into  one  hand  with  the  other. 

"  My  errand,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  is  to 
offer  to  take  this  little  girl  to  the  infant 
school." 

"  Pray  be  seated,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs. 
Corny,  urging  the  chair  upon  her. 

Mrs.  Jones  whollv  declined  this  cour- 

. 
tesy,  and  again  spoke  of  her  object  in 

coming. 

"It  is  Rosanna's  child,"  said  Catty; 
"  she  lives  up  the  stairs  there." 


52  ROSANNA; 

"Shall  I  go  up?"  said  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  O  no,  ma'am  ;  it  is  a  poor  place  for 
such  a  lady  as  you,"  said  Mrs.  Corny, 
looking  round  her  own  room  with  com- 
placency. 

tt  I  should  prefer  seeing  the  mother  in 
her  room,"  replied  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  As  the  lady  plases,"  said  Catty,  who, 
to  do  her  justice,  had  a  great  deal  of 
the  Irish  civility. 

Mrs.  Jones  went  up  the  steps,  Catty 
preceding  her,  and  raising  the  trap-door 
with  her  head.  Mrs.  Jones  passed 
through  it,  and,  begging  Mrs.  Corny  not 
to  wait,  closed  it  and  went  forward. 
On  a  miserable  bed  lay  the  emaciated 
form  of  little  Lizzy,  now  a  cripple,  and 
unable  to  walk.  In  her  countenance 
there  was  that  sad  expression  of  matu- 
rity, which  suffering  gives  even  to  in- 
fants, —  the  pale  and  hollow  cheeks  and 
infixed  eye.  Rosanna  sat  listlessly  on  the 
side  of  the  bed.  She  raised  her  eyes 
for  a  moment  towards  her  visiter  ;  their 


OR  SCENES  IN   BOSTON.  53 

expression  was  full  of  despair.  Mrs. 
Jones  repeated  her  offer  of  the  infant 
school  for  Susan,  and  inquired  into  Liz- 
zy's situation.  Rosanna  answered  in  a 
hoarse,  low  voice,  thanked  her  for  her 
kindness,  and  said,  "when  she  could 
spare  Susan,  she  should  be  glad  to  have 
her  go."  Mrs.  Jones  would  have  given 
her  money ;  but  the  bottle  and  tin  mug 
stood  on  the  table,  and  she  was  con- 
vinced, that  it  would  be  no  kindness.  "  I 
should  be  glad,"  said  she,  "to  assist  you, 
if  I  knew  the  best  way.  It  may  possibly 
occur  to  my  mind ;  in  the  mean  time, 
I  hope  you  will  send  Susan  to  school." 
Finding  Rosanna  did  not  incline  to  con- 
verse, she  left  her,  and  was  obliged  again 
to  pass  through  Catty's  room.  To  her 
she  made  the  same  kind  offer  of  the 
infant  school,  which  she  received  with  a 
profusion  of  thanks,  saying,  that  "  she  al- 
ways wished  her  children  to  have  an 
edication,  but  never  got  time  to  give 
5* 


54-  ROSANNAi 

them  one  herself."  Mrs.  Jones  men- 
tioned, that  if  she  would  like  to  send  her 
son,  they  would  be  willing  to  take  him, 
and,  if  he  behaved  well,  would  fit  him  for 
one  of  the  primary  schools.  Mrs.  Cor- 
ny said,  "  Jim  was  a  varry  good  boy,  only 
a  little  bit  of  a  rogue,  which  he  came 
honestly  to,  for  his  father  was,  before 
him;  but  I  assure  you,  ma'am,"  said 
e,  "  though  he  can't  jist  say  his  let- 
and  all  that,  he  knows  every  thing 


Mrs.  Jones  then  inquired,  if  there  were 
any  more  children  in  the  yard,  and  was 
directed  to  Mrs.  McCree's  ten-foot  build- 
ing. 

She  crossed  the  threshold  without  any 
feeling  of  hope,  and  with  the  expecta- 
tion of  witnessing  another  spectacle  of 
dirt  and  misery.  It  happened  to  be  one 
of  Dora's  home  days,  and  she  had  a 
basket  of  the  children's  clothes  that  she 
was  patching.  The  floor  was  clean,  the 


OE   SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  55 

furniture  in  its  place,  and  all  looked  like 
respectable  poverty. 

Dora  expressed  her  sense  of  Mrs. 
Jones's  kindness,  in  her  offer  of  a  school 
for  her  children.  She  said  it  would  be 
a  great  relief  to  her;  though  that  was 
not  what  she  most  thought  of,  for  it  had 
been  a  trouble  to  her,  that  her  darlings 
were  growing  up  without  schooling. 

"Indeed,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "nobody 
can  tell,  that  has  n't  tried,  how  hard  it  is 
for  us  to  get  along,  with  our  rent  to  pay, 
and  our  helpless  ones  to  clothe  and  feed, 
and  only  such  work  as  we  can  get  to  do; 
and  then,  folks  does  n't  like  us  to  keep  a- 
running  home  to  see  that  our  children  's 
out  of  fire  and  water.  I  am  sure,  many 
and  many  's  the  time,  that  my  heart  is 
in  my  mouth,  when  I  comes  near  home, 
lest  I  should  find  'em  maimed  or  burnt." 

Mrs.  Jones  felt,  how  the  evils  of  pov- 
erty are  lightened  by  cleanliness  and  a 
thankful  heart;  and,  as  she  observed  that 


56  ROSANNA; 

Pat's  toes  were  looking  out  of  his  shoes, 
she  gave  to  Dora  (what  she  had  not  dar- 
ed to  do  to  Rosanna,  though  apparently 
needing  it  more,)  money  to  get  him  a 
new  pair,  to  go  to  the  infant  school. 

Hardly  had  Mrs.  Jones  left  Catty, 
when  she  hastened  up  to  hear  what  had 
passed  at  the  interview ;  for,  though  she 
had  tucked  her  cap  behind  her  ears  and 
made  the  children  keep  perfectly  still, 
she  had  not  gathered  the  slightest  infor- 
mation. 

She  found  Rosanna  with  her  two  arms 
on  the  bed,  and  her  face  hid  in  them. 
"  Speak  to  mother,  aunty,"  said  Lizzy  ; 
she  will  not  tell  me  what  for  she  is  cry- 
ing." 

The  sobs  of  the  mother  were  audible. 
To  the  inquiries  of  Catty,  at  first,  she 
paid  no  attention  ;  but,  suddenly  .raising 
her  head,  she  said,  "It  is  she  herself,  her 
own  self!" 

"  Who?  "  asked  Mrs.  Corny. 


OR  SCENES    IN   BOSTON.  57 

"  The  lady  I  first  lived  with,  when  I 
was  a  young  and  happy  creature." 

"O  that's  the  luck, is  it?"  said  Catty; 
well,  what  is  she  going  to  do  for  you?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Rosanna ;  "  I  knew 
her,  but  she  did  not  know  me." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  her,  honey,  and 
that  these  were  your  own  swate  chil- 
dren ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  thousand  worlds ! "  replied 
Rosanna,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears.  Oh, 
Catty,  that  I  should  be  the  one  that 's 
here ;  I,  who  was  so  proud  when  I  was 
under  her  protection." 

"And  may  be  you  '11  be  agin;  don't 
be  cast  down,  Rosy." 

"  The  time  is  clane  gone,"  said  Rosan- 
na, "  when  I  could  look  the  swate  lady 
in  the  face,  with  an  eye  as  bright  as  her 
own." 

"Is  there  any  thing  in  the  bottle,  Ro- 
sy ?  "  said  Catty,  taking  it  and  holding 
it  to  the  light." 


58  ROSANNA; 

"  You  are  welcome  to  it  all,"  said  Ro- 
sanna.  "  I  wish  I  never  had  swallowed 
a  drop." 

"  Ye  think  so  now,  dear,  'cause  you 
an't  a-dry.  Well,  Lizzy  will  like  a  thim- 
ble-full." ,  '  • 

The  poor  child  raised  herself  on  her 
elbow,  seized  the  cup,  and  put  it  to  her 
parched  lips. 

"  O,  Lizzy,  child,  it  is  bad  for  you," 
said  the  mother ;  "  that  doctor  that  came 
yesterday  to  cure  you,  said  you  must  not 
drink  it." 

"  What  for  did  you  first  give  it  to  me?" 
said  the  child  reproachfully,  "  and  what 
for  do  you  drink  it  yourself?  It  is  good, 
mammy  ;  nfore,  I  want  more ! "  and  she 
began  to  cry,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Let  her  have  it,"  said  Catty ;  "  them 
doctors  don't  know  every  thing;  it 's  what 
nature  requires." 

"  I  promised  the  doctor,"  said  Rosan- 
na,  holding  back  the  cup,  which  Lizzy 
still  passionately  struggled  for. 


O*    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  59 

"What  of  that?"  said  Catty;  "sup- 
pose you  had  promised  to  murder  the 
swate  child,  would  you  do  it  for  all  that?  " 

Rosanna  relinquished  the  cup;  wheth- 
er convinced  by  Catty's  argument,  or 

V'.ji*  "*•  tt        *  x 

overc^mfc   l^Ul\£.'  importunity  of    the 


«g,V| 

child ;  at>'a^.jriaPGifit  was  the  last  effort 
for  reform,  and  wzzy  no  longer  begged 
in  vain. 


60  ROSANNA; 


CHAPTER  III. 
;A 

THE  INFANTPCHQOL.  « 


"  But  chiefly  be  the  labor  ours 

To  shade  the  early  plant; 
To  guard  from  ignorance  and  guilt 

The  infancy  of  want  ; 
To  graft  the  virtues,  ere  the  bud 

The  canker-worm  has  gnawed  ; 
And  teach  the  rescued  child  to  lisp 

Its  gratitude  to  God." 

MRS.  M°CREE  had  offered  to  take 
Susan  and  the  Cornys,  with  her  own  chil- 
dren ;  and  tfce  little  troop  stopped  at  her 
door.  Dora  saw  at  once,  that  their  moth- 
ers had  forgotten  to  wash  their  hands 
and  faces,  which  Mrs.  Jones  had  partic- 
ularly desired  might  be  done.  She  there- 
fore performed  this  office  for  them,  and 
they  then  proceeded  to  the  school.  The 


OR   SCENES   IN   BOSTON.  61 

teacher  and  her  assistant  came  forward 
to  receive  them,  with  winning  kindness. 
It  gave  the  teacher  pleasure  to  see  that 
their  faces  and  hands  had  been  washed ; 
and,  though  Susan's  clothes,  and  the  Cor- 
nys'  also,  were  somewhat  tattered,  had 
they  been  clean,  she  would  have  felt 
quite  satisfied.  In  this  respect  they  were 
like  too  many  of  the  other  children. 

Great  compassion  should  be  felt  for  the 
mothers,  when  they  tell  you  the  children's 
clothes  cannot  be  washed,  because  they 
have  no  other  suit.  But  in  summer  it 
might  be  safe  to  let  them  go  with  a  very 
slight  covering  till  that  work  is  accom- 
plished, which  would  take  but  a  short 
time ;  and  the  long  evenings  of  winter 
would  give  ample  opportunity  after  the 
children  are  in  bed.  Do  not  those  affec- 
tionate-mothers, who  tell  us,  "they  would 
lay  down  their  lives  for  their  darlings, 
and  who  look  with  such  delight  on  the 
swate  faces  of  their  children,"  like  better 
6 


62  ROSANNAj 

to  see  them  clean  than  dirty?  And 
would  it  not  be  a  satisfaction  to  them 
sometimes  to  put  on  clean  clothes  in  the 
morning,  which  would  .contribute  so 
much  to  the  comfort  and  health  of  their 
little  ones  ?  Though  water  and  towels 
are  provided  at  the  school,  and  the  poor 
neglected  ones  washed,  this  might  be 
done  more  thoroughly  at  home,  before 
they  put  on  their  clothes.  There  is  no 
one  but  must  feel  sympathy  with  the 
poverty  and  hardships  with  which  the 
Irish  have  to  struggle ;  but,  the  more 
deeply  we  sympathize  with  them,  the 
more  earnestly  would  we  recommend 
every  method  that  may  lighten  their 
burdens. 

The  children  were  arranged  accord- 
ing to  their  ages,  on  seats  one  above  an- 
other ;  the  oldest  back,  and  the  youngest 
on  the  front  benches,  giving  a  fair  oppor- 
tunity of  inspecting  the  whole.  When 
they  were  in  their  places  tne  instruc- 


OR   SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  63 

tion  began.  The  children  were  taught 
to  close  th$ir.  eyes,  while  they  repeated 
after  Miss^  '  *• «,  the  teacher,  a  short 
and  comprehensive. prayer.  To  Dora's 
children  this  was  not  a  new  exercise. 
They  had  been  taught  by  their  mother, 
that  it  was  their  Father  in  heayen  they 
were  addressing ;  that  he  heard  and 
listened  to  their  prayers,  when  she  knelt 
with  them,  morning  and  evening.  They 
found  no  difficulty  in  keeping  their  eyes 
closed,  and  their  hands  clasped,  as  they 
reverentially  followed  the  teacher.  With 
the  Cornys,  and  we  are  sorry  to  say 
with  Susan,  it  was  a  new  exercise ; 
they  found  it  difficult  to  keep  their  eyes 
shut.  The  teacher  was  too  judicious  to 
notice  with  harshness  ignorant  offenders. 
It  was  her  object  to  make  them  under- 
stand, that  they  were  praying  to  their 
Friend  and  Father,  and  to  make  them 
comprehend  how  kind  and  good  he  is; 
and  this  required  time.  Yet  it  was  mel- 


64  ROSANNA; 

ancholy  to  see  the  oldest  scholar  (as 
Jim  was)  apparently  the  most  ignorant. 
Then  came  the  letters,  -printed  so  large 
that  all  could  see  them,.and  so  on,  till 
words  were  exhibited.  The  children 
all  seemed  interested,  and  Susan,  who 
was  a  bright  little  girl,  was  very  soon 
able  to  call  out  several  letters. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  scholars  were 
allowed  a  recess  ;  some  provident  moth- 
ers had  furnished  their  children  with  a 
piece  of  bread,  an  apple,  or  whatever 
else  was  convenient.  However  hungry 
might  be  those  who  were  not  thus  pro- 
vided, it  was  pleasant  to  see  that  no  evil 
passions  were  excited ;  it  is  true  they 
looked  wishfully  at  the  others,  and  some- 
times begged  for  a  bite,  particularly  of 
the  apple,  which  went  the  round  of  five 
or  six  children.  Those  who  had  nothing 
to  eat,  made  up  for  it  by  play.  In  a  short 
time  the  children  were  again  collected 
till  the  hour  of  dismissal. 


OR   SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  65 

It  is  a  modern  improvement ,  to  teach 
children  their  letters  at  -eigl^^anonths 
and  two  years  old  ;  and,  wer^fjfa  hard 
exercise  for  them  to  learn,  ther|f^would 
be  but  little  use  in  it.  But  whef e(it  be- 
comes a  pleasure  and  amusement  for 
them  to  go  on  with  the  older  ones,  and 
they  acquire  the  rudiments  of  reading 
without  labor,  it  is  surely  a  gain.  Learn- 
ing, however,  is  not  the  object  of  an 
infant  school;  it  is  to  have  an  asylum 
for  the  children  while  their  mothers  are 
at  their  day  labor,  or,  in  many  instan- 
ces, to  save  them  from  the  melancholy 
consequences  of  neglect  and  bad  exam- 
ple. It  is  desirable  to  pause  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  think  what  a  number  of  chil- 
dren there  are,  whose  parents  are  for- 
eigners, in  our  city.  They  will  grow  up 
and  mingle  with  Americans,  and  become 
a  large  part  of  our  community.  Ought 
not  every  measure  to  be  encouraged  and 
aided,  that  may  give  them  industrious 
6* 


66  ROSANNA; 

and  temperate  habits  ?  Is  it  not  an  ob- 
ject to  take  them  from  the  streets,  collect 
them  in  a  comfortable  apartment,  and 
place  them  under  the  care  of  a  judicious 
person  during  the  day  ?  They  can  scarce- 
ly fail  of  getting  some  good  from  such 
influences.  What  though  they  must  re- 
turn to  the  abodes  of  wretchedness  and 
poverty  at  night  1  is  it  nothing  to  redeem 
so  many  hours  from  vicious  example, 
often  from  a  neglect  and  exposure,  that 
make  them  cripples,  and  consequently 
paupers,  for  life  ?  Five  hundred  dollars 
a  year  will  support  an  infant  school  of 
a  hundred  children,  and  fit  them  for  the 
primary  schools,  where  they  may  be  sent 
as  soon  as  they  are  qualified.  This  is 
not  all;  it  has  been  found,  in  many  cases, 
that  the  children  have  produced  an  in- 
fluence on  their  parents.  The  temperance 
lectures  that  they  hear  at  school  are  art- 
lessly repeated,  at  home ;  and  the  parents, 
in  more  instances  than  one,  have  listened 


OR   SCENES  IN    BOSTON.  67 

to  the  wisdom  "  of  babes  and  sucklings," 
when  their  pride  would  have  been  roused 
by  a  more  direct  appeal. 

That  this  influx  of  Irish  must  have  a 
good  or  bad  influence,  is  certain.  Those 
who  come  here  generally  bring  with  them 
the  habits  they  have  formed  in  the  old 
country ;  and  it  is  principally  to  the  young 
we  can  look  for  any  change.  Is  it  not  a  sub- 
ject worthy  of  the  consideration  of  wise 
heads,  whether  the  evil,  which  now  actu- 
ally exists,  and  which  wears  so  threaten- 
ing an  aspect  for  the  future,  may  not  be, 
in  some  measure,  arrested  in  its  prog- 
ress ?  Setting  aside  the  moral  influence 
that  might  be  exerted,  for  their  own 
sakes,  on  these  unfortunate  beings,  does 
it  not  become  an  object  of  self-preserva- 
tion, to  endeavour  to  remove  the  evil? 
As  doing  something  towards  it,  the  Infant 
School  has  been  established,  and  it  can- 
not be  doubted  by  those  who  will  take 
the  trouble  to  look  into  its  operation,  and 


68  ROSANNA; 

visit  the  parents  in  their  own  abodes, 
that  its  success  is  what  was  reasonably 
expected. 

Objections  have  been  made  to  infant 
schools,  as  debarring  children  from  the 
early  freedom  and  exercise  which  nature 
designed  for  them.  They  certainly  are 
not  intended  for  those  who  are  born  to 
benign  and  blessed  influences,  who  have 
wise  and  judicious  parents  to  guard 
them  from  evil;  but  they  are  nurseries 
for  those  who  have  none  to  take  proper 
care  of  them,  asylums  for  those  who  are 
turned  into  the  street  during  the  day, 
or  locked  up  in  wretched  apartments, 
while  their  mother  is  earning  their  daily 
bread.  They  are  schools  of  moral  in- 
struction for  those,  who  are  never  taught 
at  home,  that  theft,  profaneness,  and 
intemperance  are  vices;  and  religious 
sanctuaries  for  those,  who  never  hear 
elsewhere  the  names  of  God  and  Jesus 
Christ. 


OR  SCENES   IN   BOSTON.  69 

Let  us  unite  with  the  temperate,  the 
honest,  the  respectable  Irish  who  dwell 
in  our  city,  in  aiding  their  countrymen. 
Few  who  have  intercourse  with  this 
class,  but  will  feel  how  much  there  is  of 
worth  in  their  characters,  and  how  much 
good  they  may  do  by  counsel  and  ex- 
ample. The  Rev.  Mr.  Taylor,  who  dwelt 
in  this  city  several  years,  and  who  trod 
in  the  steps  of  the  excellent  Bishop 
Cheverus  with  the  same  fidelity  and 
zeal  in  good  works,  uniting  in  himself 
the  Catholicism  of  a  Christian  and  a 
love  of  the  human  race,  gave  this  tes- 
timony to  his  countrymen ;  "  The  vir- 
tues of  the  Irish  are  their  own ;  their 
vices  are  the  melancholy  effects  of  cir- 
cumstances." 

To  return ;  the  children  came  home 
pleased  with  the  morning;  and  both 
Dora  and  Catty  seemed  to  have  gained 
new  impulses  from  the  notice  their 
children  had  received.  The  latter  con- 


TO  ROSANNA; 

tinually  remarked,  that  "edication  was 
what  she  had  always  been  wanting  for 
them,  and  now  they  had  got  it."  Dora 
felt  more  rationally  the  good  effects  that 
might  be  derived  from  having  them  in 
safe  keeping,  while  she  was  able  to  pur- 
sue her  work ;  and,  as  poor  little  Lizzy 
could  not  be  left  alone,  she  formed  a 
very  natural  plan,  that  she  or  Rosanna 
should  take  care  of  the  invalid  and  the 
twins  at  the  same  time,  and  leave  the 
other  mother  at  liberty  to  go  out  to  a 
day's  work.  All  Mrs.  Corny's  children 
were  old  enough  for  the  school,  and  Jim 
had  even  passed  the  usual  age  of  ad- 
mittance, and  was  received  only  till  he 
could  be  qualified  for  one  of  the  prima- 
ry schools. 

Two  or  three  weeks  after  the  children 
began  to  go  to  school,  Dora  went  one 
morning  into  Rosanna's  loft.  She  had 
not  seen  her  for  several  days,  and  was 
struck  with  the  change  in  her  appear- 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  71 

ance.  Lizzy,  as  usual,  was  lying  on  the 
bed,  and  her  mother  by  her  side;  but 
there  was  an  expression  of  despair  in 
Rosy's  countenance,  mixed  with  a  hardy 
indifference.  She  knew  that  Catty's 
influence  was  bad,  and  she  determined 
if  possible  to  rouse  Rosanna,  to  effect  a 
change  in  her  situation,  and  get  her  a 
room  separate  from  Mrs.  McCorny. 

"I  have  been  thinking,  dear,"  she  be- 
gan, "  about  you  and  the  sick  one  there, 
whether  we  could  n't  contrive  to  do 
better  for  her.  There  she  lays,  from 
morn  to  night,  and  never  sees  the 
blessed  light  of  the  sun,  nor  the  green 
trees,  nor  the  waves  that  are  dashing  up 
on  the  sides  of  the  wharves,  nor  the 
white  sails  that  come  far  over  the  wa- 
ters. Them  are  blessed  sights,  Rosy, 
they  would  do  her  good.  How  hot  her 
forehead  is  ! "  said  she,  laying  her  hand 
upon  it. 

"  Don't  talk  about  them  sights,"  said 


72  ROSANNA; 

Rosanna ;  "  I  never  want  to  see  'em 
again.  I  never  want  to  see  the  sun,  — 
I  never  want  to  see  any  thing  that  I 
used  to  see  when  I  was  young;  and 
when  I  think  of  Ballynascrew,  my  breath 
stops ; "  and  she  began  a  low  wail,  in 
which  the  sick  child  joined. 

"  And  what  is  the  reason  for  all  that  1 " 
said  Dora,  compassionately.  "You  are 
but  young  yet,  yourself;  and  if  you 
would  but  rouse  up,  you  'd  get  many  a 
good  day's  work,  and  a  better  home 
than  this." 

"  As  how  ?  "  said  Rosanna,  sitting  up 
on  the  bed. 

"  Oh,  Rosy,  there  it  is ;  ye  must  not 
touch  the  whisky,  nor  the  rum." 

Rosanna  threw  herself  back. 

"Don't  ye  know,  dear,"  continued 
Dora,  "you  cannot  work  with  the  cra- 
ture  in  your  head  ?  Now  jist  try  a  little 
bit  without  it." 

"  That  is  n't  it,"  said  Rosanna. 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  73 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

"  It  is  two  days,"  replied  she,  rising, 
"  that  I  have  been  going  to  do  jobs  at 
the  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  where  I  '11  get 
half  a  dollar  for  my  work ;  but  what  will 
I  do  with  the  helpless  one  ?  " 

"  If  you  do  not  work  and  earn  money, 
what  will  become  of  her  and  Susan  ?  " 
said  Dora.  "  Catty  is  getting  tired." 

"  I  know  it ;  she  told  me  as  much," 
replied  Rosanna.  Then,  passionately 
striking  her  hands  together,  "  I  '11  tell 
ye  what  '11  be  the  end  of  it.  I  will  die." 

"  Ah  !  Rosy,"  said  Dora,  "  after  death 
comes  the  judgment.  We  can't  lay 
down  and  die,  and  think  it 's  all  over ;  if 
we  could,  many 's  the  time  when  I  'd  ha' 
been  glad  to.  But  morning  will  come, 
and  we  must  wake  again ;  and  then  we 
must  give  an  account.  Ah,  if  it  was 
nothing  but  to  die,  that  would  be  easy 
enough,  when  the  poor  heart  is  bursting 
with  grief,  and  nobody  near  to  say  a 
7 


74  ROSANNA; 

word  of  comfort,  and  everybody  revil- 
ing you,  and  only  God  to  know  of  your 
innocence." 

Unable  to  command  her  emotion,  Do- 
ra's tears  flowed  fast. 

"You  an't  that  one,"  said   Rosanna, 
roused  to  something  like  interest. 

"  But  I  am,  though,"  said  Dora. 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent. 

"I  did  not  come  to  talk  about  myself," 
she  resumed.  "  I  came  to  take  Lizzy, 
with  your  lave.  It  is  my  home  day,  and 
the  children  are  all  at  school ;  and  I  gave 
them  their  dinner,  and  told  them  to  keep 
Susan  with  them  ;  and  so,  if  you  like,  I 
will  take  Lizzy,  and  keep  her  to-day  in 
my  own  room,  and  you  may  have  the 
job  at  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern.  Lizzy, 
dear,"  said  she  kindly,  "  will  you  go  with 
aunty  Dora,  and  spend  the  livelong  day 
with  the  darling  twins.  It  will  do  your 
heart  good  to  see  their  swate,  smiling 
faces." 


OR   SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  75 

The  little  sufferer  seemed  pleased 
with  the  proposal.  The  idea  of  change 
is  generally  welcome  to  the  sick.  There 
is  a  restlessness  in  disease,  that  is  con- 
stantly looking  forward  to  Change  for  al- 
leviation. 

"  I  will  like  to  go,  mammy,"  said  she ; 
"  aunty  Dora  won't  let  Jim  be  plaguing 
me." 

The  mother  at  first  seemed  unwilling 
to  accept  the  offer;  but,  when  Dora  said, 
"  Ye  will  feel  better,  Rosy,  when  Satur- 
day night  comes,  if  ye  can  pay  Catty  a 
trifle,"  Rosanna  ceased  to  resist,  and 
Mrs.  McCree,  taking  the  child  in  her 
arms,  conveyed  her  to  her  own  neat  room. 
She  there  placed  her  on  the  bed,  and 
supported  her  comfortably  by  pillows,  a 
luxury  that  she  had  not  before  known. 
She  breathed  a  purer  and  healthier  air ; 
and  Dora,  who  was  really  a  good  nurse, 
supplied  her  with  pleasant  and  cooling 
drinks.  The  gambols  and  innocent  sports 


76  EOSANNAj 

of  the  twins  amused  and  interested  her ; 
and  she  said  two  or  three  times,  "  Tell 
mammy  Lizzy  he's  better." 

As  soon  as  Dora  had  gone,  Rosanna 
put  on  her  cloak  to  go  for  the  work  she 
had  been  promised  ;  but  she  still  loiter- 
ed away  the  time.  She  had  debility,  as 
well  as  habit,  to  struggle  against.  At 
length  she  heard  Mrs.  Corny  in  her 
room,  and  this  seemed  to  give  her  a 
slight  impulse.  With  languid  step  she 
descended.  It  was  about  eleven  o'clock. 
Catty  had  run  home,  not  to  look  after  her 
children,  for  they  were  at  school,  but  to 
satisfy  the  craving  want  generated  by 
habitual  intemperance.  Of  late,  she 
had  not  been  quite  so  patient  with  Ro- 
sanna as  formerly.  The  reflection  often 
crossed  her  mind,  that  there  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  half  support  her, 
when  she  had  her  own  darlings  to  la- 
bor for ;  but,  generally,  her  Irish  good- 


OR  SCENES  IN   BOSTON.  77 

nature  and  generosity  got  the  better  of 
these  misgivings,  and  she  remembered 
that  poor  Lizzy's  accident,  which  had 
so  sadly  distressed  the  mother,  "jist 
come  of  Jim's  roguery;  mischievous 
darling  as  he  was,  and  as  like  his  father 
as  one  pea  was  like  another ;  "  and  she 
forgot  her  causes  of  vexation  with  Ro- 
sanna.  She  had  the  tin  pint  at  her  lips, 
as  Rosy  entered. 

"  Sit  down,  awhile,  dear,"  said  she  ; 
"  I  Ve  got  a  swallow  left  for  you." 

Rosanna  made  a  motion  with  her 
hand  to  reject  it. 

"I  am  going  out  to  earn  a  trifle,"  said 
she,  "  to  pay  my  rent ;  for  it  goes  to  my 
heart,  that  you  should  have  to  board  me 
for  nothing." 

"  Don't  think  of  that,  now,  dear,"  said 
Catty,  "  but  jist  take  a  drop ;  you  look 
tired,  and  it  will  do  ye  good  of  a  raw 
morning."  (It  happened  to  be  one  of 
the  dog-days  of  August.) 
7* 


78  ROSANNA; 

Thus  urged,  Rosanna  put  the  mug  to 
her  lips,  and  drank  it  all.  She  would 
have  done  the  same  had  it  been  water ; 
for  there  was  a  constant  thirst  and  fever 
upon  her.  She  then  set  it  down,  and 
rose  to  go ;  but  Catty  said,  "  Stop  a 
bit ;  I  want  jist  to  have  a  talk  about  the 
school.  Does  your  Susan  like  to  go  1 " 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Rosanna  listless- 
ly ;  "I  never  asked  her." 

"  Well,  my  Jim  don't ;  they  plague 
the  darling  about  getting  lessons;  he 
won't  go  much  longer,  I  can  tell  'em,  if 
they  don't  take  care ;  he  is  jist  like  his 
father,  and  they  might  know  it  well 
enough ;  he  an't  the  one  to  stand  still 
and  be  abused  ;  if  they  only  coaxed  him, 
he  'd  do  any  thing.  Now  they  comes 

complaining  to  me If  there  he  an't, 

now ! " 

At  that  moment  Jim  came  sideling  in, 
looking  somewhat  ashamed. 

"  What  are  you  home  here  for?"  said 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  79 

Catty,  catching  up  a  piece  of  wood,  in  a 
threatening  attitude. 

Jim  evidently  did  not  fear  a  blow ;  he 
knew  his  mother's  good-nature  too 
well ;  but  he  said  in  a  sullen  manner,  "  I 
thought,  may  be  you  wanted  me  to  go 
an  errand." 

"The  darling,"  said  Catty;  "that  is 
jist  like  him.  Well,  Jim,  my  boy,  the  bot- 
tle is  empty,  and  ye  may  get  it  filled." 

The  boy  took  the  bottle,  and  went  to 
do  the  errand,  sure  of  the  reward  when 
he  returned. 

Again  Rosanna  made  a  motion  to  go. 

"  Now  jist  wait  a  bit,"  said  Catty ; 
"  ye  '11  want  a  sip  when  he  comes  back. 
But  who  is  with  Lizzy  1  I  don't  hear 
her." 

"  No,"  said  Rosanna ;  "  Mrs.  McCree 
took  her  home,  and  is  going  to  keep 
her  all  day,  so  that  I  may  earn  a  little 
money." 

"  The  kind  soul ! "  said  Catty.  "  How 
Jim  stays!" 


80  ROSANNA; 

"He  has  but  jist  gone,"  said  Rosan- 
na ;  <*  I  can't  wait ;  it  is  growing  late ; 
the  sunny  spot  is  on  the  fence." 

Still,  however,  she  made  no  move- 
ment. At  length  Jim  returned  with  the 
bottle. 

"  Now,  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  go 
back  to  school." 

"  What  for  will  I  go?"  said  he  dog- 
gedly, looking  at  the  bottle. 

Mrs.  Corny  mixed  the  draught,  which 
he  swallowed. 

"  Now,  you  '11  go,  dear,  won't  you  ?  " 
said  Catty. 

The  boy  assented,  and  returned  to 
the  school. 

Again  and  again  the  cup  was  filled 
and  drained,  before  Rosanna  mustered 
resolution  to  move. 

"/  must  go,"  said  Catty,  "for  I  left 
my  work  at  sixes  and  sevens ;  but  where 
are  you  going,  Rosy  ?  " 

"I  believe  to  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern," 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  81 

. 

said  she ;  "I  wish  it  was  to  my  grave. 
I  am  tired,  so  tired,  I  want  to  lay  down 
and  rest." 

"  You  may  lay  down  on  my  bed," 
said  Catty. 

"  Will  I  never  wake  again?"  exclaim- 
ed Rosanna,  wildly. 

"  O  yes !  arter  a  good  nap,"  replied 
Catty. 

"  If  I  could  go  to  sleep  and  never, 
never  wake,  it  would  be  something," 
said  Rosanna ;  "  but  Dora  JVPCree  says 
you  do  wake  in  another  world,  if  you 
don't  in  this" 

"  How  does  she  know  ?  "  said  Catty ; 
"but  don't  always  be  a-talking  such 
melancholy  things." 

Rosanna  turned  full  upon  her.  Prob- 
ably she  felt  the  rum  operating  upon  her 
brain.  "  Catty,"  said  she,  "  you  have 
been  a  kind  friend  to  me ;  I  thank  you. 
Dora  McCree  too  has  been  a  kind  friend. 
Tell  her  to  keep  poor  Lizzy  till  I  come 


82  ROSANNA; 

back ;  and  tell  her,"  added  she,  with  a 
wild,  idiot-like  laugh,  "to  be  sure  and 
not  let  you  have  Susan." 

With  a  tottering  step  she  passed  out 
of  the  door,  and,  as  she  went  by  Dora's 
window,  paused,  for  she  heard  the  inno- 
cent voice  of  Lizzy,  cheerfully  talking  to 
the  twins.  She  wished  to  go  in,  but  a 
sense  of  shame  that  she  had  loitered 
away  so  much  time,  and,  perhaps,  some 
consciousness  of  her  half- intoxicated 
situation,  prevented  her.  She  stopped  for 
a  moment,  clasped  her  hands  in  agony, 
and  rushed  through  the  narrow  passage. 

"I  declare,"  said  Catty,  who  slowly 
followed  her,  "  she  seems  to  have  gone 
clane  mad." 

Rosanna  hastened  on,  the  job  at  the 
Boar's  Head  Tavern  still  in  her  mind.  It 
was  in  the  vicinity  of  Broad  Street. 
When  she  arrived  at  the  house,  they  told 
her  she  was  in  no  state  to  work,  and 
advised  her  to  go  home  and  go  to  sleep. 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  83 

They  knew  her,  and  felt  that  vague  kind 
of  compassion,  which  one  so  young,  so 
frail  in  her  figure,  and  preserving  yet 
something  of  the  beauty  of  early  inno- 
cence, naturally  excited.  But  it  was  a 
compassion  that  roused  to  no  exertion. 
They  saw  her  stagger  from  the  door, 
and  forgot  that  she  was  a  human  being. 
By  this  time,  her  mind  was  wholly  con- 
fused. She  stood  for  a  moment  doubtful. 
"Where  will  I  go?"  said  she.  "To 
sleep ?  Yes !  They  all  say,  Go  to  sleep" 
She  wandered  on,  supporting  herself  by 
the  fences.  Finally,  she  came  to  a  wharf. 
The  sea  air  seemed  to  invigorate  her  for 
a  moment,  and  she  walked  with  a  steadi- 
er step.  Suddenly  a  faint  shriek  reach- 
ed her  ear.  "  It  is  Lizzy  ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  She  calls  me.  Where  am 
I  ?  "  The  shriek  grew  louder,  and  many 
hoarse  voices  mingled  with  it.  It  was  a 
Broad  Street  riot !  Rosanna  tried  to 
turn  aside,  but  her  senses  were  bewil- 


84  ROSANNA; 

dered.  Her  last  idea  was  to  reach  the 
end  of  the  wharf,  and  to  plunge  into  the 
water ! 

In  a  short  time,  the  riot  was  quelled 
by  the  city  authorities  that  assembled, 
and  all  remained  as  before,  except  Ro- 
sanna.  She  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  ! 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  85 


CHAPTER  IV. 


There  is  a  death,  whose  pang 
Outlasts  the  fleeting  breath; 

O  what  appalling  horrors  hang 
Around  the  'second  death'  !  " 


WHEN  the  children  returned  from 
school,  Dora  took  Susan  with  Lizzy, 
who  had  begun  to  inquire  for  her  moth- 
er, though  she  had  not  once  asked  for 
the  quieting  medicine  which  Mrs.  Corny 
so  constantly  recommended.  As  it  grew 
night,  however,  her  uneasiness  increas- 
ed. "  What  for  does  n't  she  come?"  she 
perpetually  exclaimed.  "I  want  to  go 
home  !  I  want  to  be  with  my  mammy  !" 

"Do  you  feel  sick,  dear?"  said  Dora 
tenderly. 


86  ROSANNA; 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  little  girl ;  "  when 
mammy  takes  me  in  her  arms,  I  do  not 
feel  sick  all  over  as  I  do  now ; "  and  she 
began  to  cry. 

"  She  will  soon  be  here,"  said  Dora, 
"and  then  you  shall  go  home  with  her." 
The  children,  too,  tried  to  comfort  her. 
Still,  however,  hour  after  hour  passed, 
and  Rosanna  did  not  appear.  The  long 
twilight  of  summer  was  vanishing  in 
darkness.  Catty  returned  from  her 
day's  work,  as  usual,  with  her  faculties 
benumbed  by  intemperance.  But  she 
was  a  veteran  in  the  cause,  and  could 
drink  an  uncommon  quantity.  When 
she  found  Rosanna's  room  vacant,  she 
was  surprised,  and  recollected  that  she 
had  told  her,  Dora  had  taken  Lizzy  for 
the  day. 

She  immediately  went  to  Mrs.  M°Cree's 
to  make  inquiry,  and  found  she  was  not 
there.  "Never  mind,"  said  she;  "may 
be  she  's  fallen  asleep  somewhere.  Poor 


OR   SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  87 

soul !  how  she  '11  take  on,  when  she  wakes 
up,  and  misses  her  darlings ;  but  it  is  no 
great  harm  done,  she  can  easily  find  her 
way  home." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  her  to  do  so  1 " 
asked  Dora. 

"  Never,"  said  Catty ;  "  but  I  've 
known  myself  to,  after  a  hard  day's 
work ;  and  it  was  jist  upon  the  morn, 
afore  I  found  my  way  home  to  the 
swate  darlings.  Hark !  it  is  striking 
eleven ;  she  '11  be  home  soon.  I  am 
sure,  I  can't  keep  my  eyes  open  any 
longer,  so  I  '11  jist  take  the  little  ones 
home,  and  put  'em  with  mine." 

Dora,  however,  refused  to  take  them 
up.  She  said,  "Lizzy  was  dozing,  and 
seemed  easier,  and  Susan  was  sound 
asleep.  In  the  morning  she  would  give 
them  to  their  mother." 

Dora  passed  a  sad  night.  If  she  lost 
herself  in  sleep  for  a  few  moments,  it 
was  to  dream  of  Rosanna.  Sometimes 


88  ROSANNA; 

she  saw  her  stretched  lifeless  before  her. 
Then,  again,  she  heard  the  dreadful  sen- 
tence pronounced;  "Depart  from  me, 
ye  cursed."  More  than  once,  she  saw 
her  enclosed  in  the  stone  walls  of  the 
State  Prison;  she  heard  the  condem- 
nation, "for  life."  She  saw  her  agoniz- 
ed parting  with  her  children ;  the  iron 
doors  were  closing  on  her  for  ever,  and  a 
voice  from  the  centre  of  the  earth,  deep 
and  hollow,  sounded  in  her  ears,  "  Be- 
'hold  the  re  ward  of  drunkenness!"  Then 
again  her  husband  was  with  Rosanna,  — 
he  to  whom  her  hand  and  heart  were 
early  plighted.  She  heard  her  own 
name  called,  she  could  not  mistake  the 
voice,  —  it  was  too  familiar  to  her  ear ; 
"  Dora !  Dora ! "  Rosanna  was  wander- 
ing with  him  in  the  green  valleys  of  the 
Emerald  Isle ;  her  arm  was  entwined  in 
his.  She  approached  near  and  felt  his 
breath  warm  on  her  cheek  ;  she  started 
and  awoke ! 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  89 

It  was  a  tribute  to  Rosanna's  amiable 
disposition  and  natural  gifts,  that  she  at- 
tached all  around  her.  Dora  had  felt  a 
warm  interest  in  her  welfare,  from  the 
time  she  had  first  known  her.  Catty 
had  loved  her,  as  if  she  had  been  her 
own  child.  But  these  were  obscure  and 
helpless  women.  They  could  do  but 
little  to  aid  her.  One  had  been  plung- 
ing her  into  an  abyss  of  misery,  by  ex- 
ample and  precept ;  and  Dora  felt,  that 
perhaps  she  might  have  done  more  to 
save  her  from  ruin. 

"  I  have  dreamt  a  dreadful  dream," 
thought  she,  as  she  roused  up.  "  Thank 
God,  it  was  but  a  dream  !  I  '11  not  try 
to  sleep  again  ;"  and  she  wiped  the  cold 
dew  from  her  forehead,  arose  and  dress- 
ed herself,  and  leaned  over  her  children. 
"  Ah  !  sleep  on,  my  darlings,"  said  she ; 
"never  may  you  know  such  sleep  as 
mine ! " 

"  Mammy  !  rum  !  give  me  rum  !  " 
8* 


90  ROSANNA; 

murmured  Lizzy.  Dora  put  a  cooling 
draught  to  her  lips,  and  the  child  swal- 
lowed it  without  seeming  to  awake. 
Alas !  to  this  innocent  one,  for  many, 
many  nights,  such  poison  as  she  called 
for  had  been  administered,  and  she  had 
taken  it,  all  unconscious  of  crime.  Oh, 
how  light  is  the  sin,  which  destroys  the 
body,  compared  to  that  which  kills  the 
soul. 

When  morning  dawned,  Dora  awoke 
Catty.  No  news  had  been  heard  of 
Rosanna,  and  Mrs.  Corny  set  off  to 
make  inquiries  at  the  Boar's  Head  Tav- 
ern. The  people  there  could  tell  but 
little.  "  Rosanna  had  come,"  they  said, 
"  to  work,  but  she  was  in  a  state  of  in- 
toxication, and  they  had  advised  her  to 
go  home  and  sleep  it  off.  Where  she 
went,  they  knew  not."  One  little  boy 
said,  "  he  saw  her  going  down  on  that 
wharf."  Catty  immediately  took  his  di- 
rection, and  went  to  look  for  her,  fully 


OR  SCENES   IN  BOSTON.  91 

believing,  that  she  might  still  be  sleeping 
in  some  retired  spot,  sheltered  by  boards 
or  piles  of  wood.  Her  search  was  fruit- 
less. She  went  quite  to  the  end  of  the 
wharf,  and  looked  down  upon  the  water. 
An  indistinct  idea  crossed  her  mind,  that 
Rosanna  had  drowned  herself.  She  re- 
membered her  parting  message  to  Dora ; 
"Tell  her  to  keep  Lizzy  till  I  come 
back." 

"  Ah  !  sure,  and  it  is  so,"  said  she  ; 
"  ogh  wirrastreu !  ogh  wirrastreu  ! " 

Again  she  leaned  over  and  looked  into 
the  water,  as  if  expecting  to  see  the 
floating  corpse  of  her  friend.  How  pure 
and  beautiful  was  that  mirror,  reflecting 
the  heavens  above !  A  gentle  breeze 
stole  over  the  waters.  Charlestown,  with 
its  spires  and  monument;  East  Boston, 
with  its  hotel,  villas,  and  cottages ;  Fort 
Strong  and  Fort  Independence,  with  the 
countless  islands  of  the  far-spreading 
bay,  met  the  eye ;  and,  included  in  the 


92  ROSANNA; 

panorama  rose  the  noble  buildings  at 
South  Boston,  splendid  abodes  of  hu- 
man misery ! 

All  this  Catty  heeded  not ;  she  turn- 
ed recklessly  away ;  but  suddenly  a  far 
different  sight  attracted  her  attention. 
It  was  a  small  shoe,  that  lay  near  the 
edge  of  the  wharf,  worn  down  at  the 
heel,  and  evidently  had  only  been  kept 
on  the  foot  by  a  red  string.  She  turned 
pale ;  it  was  Rosanna's  shoe.  She  could 
have  sworn  to  it  among  a  hundred; 
there  was  the  red  string  she  had  seen 
her  fasten  to  the  shoe.  It  was  some 
time  before  she  was  able  to  move.  This 
she  considered  demonstration;  "Rosy 
had  drowned  herself!"  With  the  shoe 
in  her  hand,  she  returned  to  Dora's 
dwelling,  to  tell  the  melancholy  tale. 
The  children,  who  were  sleeping  in  the 
other  room,  had  not  yet  awoke  ;  and 
Dora  tried  to  silence  Catty's  excla- 
mations of  grief.  "  She  did  not  think 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  93 

it  was  a  proof,  that  she  had  drowned 
herself;  for  why  should  she  take  off 
her  shoe?  Besides,  the  string  was 
broken  ;  —  she  might  have  lost  it,  or 
it  might  not  be  hers.  She  did  not 
think  it  was," she  said;  "it  was  too  small 
for  a  grown  woman's  shoe."  But  Catty 
protested,  that  "  Rosy's  foot  was  no  big- 
ger than  an  infant's."  The  voice  of 
Lizzy  summoned  Dora  to  her  bed- 
side, with  the  shoe  still  in  her  hand. 
As  soon  as  the  child  saw  it,  she 
exclaimed,  —  "  Mammy's  shoe  ! "  and 
held  out  her  little,  emaciated  hand,  to 
receive  it,  covered  it  with  kisses,  and 
placed  it  in  her  bosom.  Many  a  time, 
through  the  day,  she  wailed  and  mourn- 
ed for  her  mother.  Susan,  too,  had  her 
*"  crying  spells  "  ;  but  Rosanna  came  not. 
Day  after  day  passed,  and  no  tidings 
could  be  learned  of  the  miserable  woman. 
Many  inquiries  were  made  among  the 
people  of  their  own  class;  but  no  light  was 


94  ROSANNAj 

thrown  on  the  affair.  And  Catty  said, 
"No  wonder,  for  death  told  no  tales." 
Once,  she  proposed  having  a  wake  for 
Rosanna ;  but  Dora  received  the  pro- 
posal with  such  evident  indignation,  that 
she  said  no  more  about  it. 

Childhood  is  easily  reconciled  to 
change ;  its  tears  are  soon  dried  for 
the  dearest  friend  that  God  has  given 
it,  —  a  mother !  Catty,  in  the  fulness 
of  her  heart,  had  told  Dora  of  Ro- 
sanna's  last  words  ;  and  Dora  declared, 
that  she  would  adopt  the  children,  and 
bring  them  up,  with  her  own,  in  the 
fear  of  God.  Susan  ceased  to  talk  of 
her  mother ;  she  was  naturally  a  gay 
and  happy  child.  She  "  loved  Aunty 
Dora  and  her  new  sisters  dearly  " ;  and 
she  said,  "  Pat  was  a  kind  little  brother ; 
and  not  only  did  not  tease  her  himself, 
but  would  not  let  Jim  Corny." 

And  could  Lizzy,  who  was  a  year 
older  than  Susan,  thus  easily  forget  her 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  95 

mother  ?  Oh,  no !  Sickness  had  ma- 
tured her  sensibilities ;  she  had  always 
slept  on  her  mother's  arm  ;  and  never 
had  she  given  indications  of  pain,  but 
Rosanna  had  roused  herself,  however 
deadly  was  the  draught  of  the  evening 
before. 

Can  a  mother  forget  her  babe  ?  Poor 
Rosanna !  she  had  forgotten  herself, 
her  best  and  highest  interests,  her  du- 
ty to  God  and  to  society ;  but  she 
had  been  true  to  maternal  affection. 
She  had  watched  and  wept  over  her 
children ;  she  had  put  aside  for  them 
the  untasted  meal,  for  which  she  was 
famishing.  Weary,  exhausted,  and  sick, 
she  had  labored  for  them.  But  one 
duty  she  had  wholly  neglected ;  she 
had  never  prayed  for  them !  How 
should  she  ?  she,  who  never  prayed  for 
herself!  It  was  here  the  enemy  found 
entrance,  and,  in  the  fatal  draught,  ad- 
ministered his  poison. 


96  ROSANNA; 

Lizzy  felt  for  her  mother  a  love,  that 
time  could  not  extinguish.  Sometimes, 
when  allusion  was  made  to  her,  she 
said,  "  I  don't  love  to  talk  of  my  moth- 
er, because  it  makes  me  cry."  But, 
amidst  her  tears,  she  renewed  the  sub- 
ject, and  covered  the  shoe,  that  she  al- 
ways kept  by  her  side,  with  kisses. 

God  is  merciful;  we  may  trust  in  him, 
though  his  blessings  are  not  given  like 
ours.  The  mother  of  the  little  sufferer 
was  removed ;  but,  in  Dora,  He  had 
given  her  a  truer  friend.  Her  excellent 
nursing,  and  experience  in  sickness,  did 
wonders  for  Lizzy.  The  Dispensary 
Doctor  attended  her  daily.  His  pre- 
scriptions were  faithfully  followed,  and 
the  little  girl  was  again  able  to  take  the 
fresh  air. 

Sometimes,  Dora  took  her  in  her 
arms,  and  carried  her  down  to  the 
wharf,  —  that  very  wharf,  so  memorable 
to  Catty.  The  child  loved  the  sight, 


OR   SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  97 

and  the  sea  air  strengthened  her.  Her 
imagination  seemed  disproportioned  to 
her  years.  Once  she  exclaimed,  —  "I 
see  her !  I  see  her !  In  that  beautiful 
vessel,  with  the  white  sails ;  she  comes 
over  the  waters  to  take  me  with  her." 

"  Ah,  dear ! "  said  Dora,  "  may  be  it 
is  the  Blessed  Virgin  that  you  see." 

"  No  ! "  said  Lizzy,  "  it  is  my  own 
dear  mother.  But  it  is  not  there  now  ; 
ah !  the  waters  have  gone  over  it ! " 

And  how  was  Dora  to  provide  for 
two  more  mouths?  and  how  support 
the  expenses  of  attending  Lizzy's  sick- 
ness 1  This  was,  sometimes,  an  anxious 
thought  with  her ;  but  she  was  not  cast 
down,  for  she  trusted  in  God. 

The  Infant  School  had  been  an  un- 
speakable relief  to  her,  and  Lizzy  had 
got  so  well,  that  she  could  leave  the 
twins  under  her  care.  It  was  a  family 
of  love,  and  Dora's  conduct  had  proved, 
that  she  was  "  a  poor  wise  woman." 
9 


98  ROSANNA; 

We  must  now  look  in  upon  Catty. 
The  first  week  or  two,  after  Rosan- 
na's  absence,  was  devoted  by  her  to 
weeping,  wailing,  and  drinking.  She 
was  roused  from  this  state  by  a  visit 
from  the  school -mistress,  who  came  to 
inform  her,  that  Jim's  habits  were  such, 
that,  unless  some  change  could  be  effect- 
ed, he  could  no  longer  remain  at  school. 

"You  probably  are  not  aware,"  said 
she,  "  that  he  is  half  the  time  in  a  state 
of  intoxication,  which  renders  him  in- 
capable of  getting  lessons.  It  was  not 
immediately,  that  we  discovered  the 
cause  of  his  dulness,  and  my  assistant 
has  taken  more  pains  with  him  than  with 
any  other  scholar.  If  you  can  prevent 
this  habit,  we  are  still  willing  to  try  to 
fit  him  for  the  primary  school." 

Catty  listened  with  astonishment ;  she 
could  scarcely  believe  her  own  ears. 
She  had  considered  it  a  particular  favor 
to  the  school  and  the  school-mistress,  that 


OE  SCENES  IN    BOSTON.  99 

Jim  had  attended  it  on  any  terms  ;  and, 
in  her  zeal,  she  confessed,  that  she  was 
in  the  constant  habit  of  hiring  him  to  go, 
" with  a  drink"  morning  and  afternoon. 
She  said  "  they  need  not  trouble  them- 
selves, for  Jimmy  would  be  glad  enough 
not  to  go ;  it  was  pretty  dull  work,  for 
such  a  spry  boy  as  he  was,  to  sit  on  a 
bench  all  day ;  and  what 's  more,  he 
would  n't  do  it  if  she  did  not  give  him 
a  thimble-full  to  make  him  a  little  bit 
sleepy." 

After  trying,  in  vain,  to  make  her 
comprehend  the  evil  done  to  the  boy, 
the  point  was  given  up.  Mrs.  Corny 
said,  "  Mary  and  Betsey  might  still  go  if 
they  were  a  mind  to ;"  and  the  school- 
mistress left  the  house  with  the  painful 
conviction,  that  the  earnest  desire  of 
doing  good  to  the  unfortunate  boy  must 
be  her  only  reward.  Let  us  remember, 
with  deep  humility,  that  our  heavenly 
Father  does  not  proportion  his  benefits 
to  our  grateful  reception  of  them;  that 


100  ROSANNAj 

he  is  patient  and  long-suffering;  and  let 
this  be  the  great  rule  of  our  benevo- 
lence. 

Often,  from  what  appears  unmixed 
evil,  partial  good  arises.  The  teacher 
became  now  fully  aware  of  Mrs.  Cor- 
ny's  habits,  and  turned  her  attention  to- 
wards the  other  two  unfortunate  chil- 
dren. The  impression  was  strong,  that 
she  had  made  upon  their  young  and 
flexible  minds ;  and  the  pathos  and 
sweetness  of  Mary's  voice,  when  she 
sung  the  following  little  hymn,  used  in 
the  school,  was  very  touching. 

"  Oh  touch  it  not,  oh  touch  it  not ! 

For  God  hath  said  't  is  sin. 
Those  who  drink  from  the  fatal  bowl, 
Feel  grief  and  woe  within. 

"  Oh  taste  it  not,  oh  taste  it  not, 

'T  will  take  your  sense  away ; 
'T  will  make  you  poor,  and  wretched  too, 
And  lead  to  death  the  way." 


OR    SCENES  IN    BOSTON.  101 

It  soon  became  evident,  that  Mary 
was  a  child  of  unusual  sensibility  and 
quickness  of  mind.  When  she  was  told 
of  the  ruin  and  misery  produced  by  rum, 
she  once  involuntarily  said,  "  Oh,  I  will 
tell  my  mother."  She  often  sung  the 
little  hymn  at  home,  and  sometimes  let 
fall  what  she  had  learned  at  school,  of 
the  sin  and  misery  produced  by  intem- 
perance. Such  is  the  power  of  virtuous 
truth,  that  Mrs.  Corny  felt  abashed  be- 
fore her  own  infant  child.  Would  that 
we  could  say,  she  ceased  to  drink ;  but 
she  drank  less;  for  she  became  ashamed 
of  the  draught,  when  the  innocent  eye  of 
the  child  was  fixed  upon  her.  She  no 
longer  offered  her  children  the  thimble- 
full  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup ;  for  Mary 
said  it  was  poison  ! 

Poor  Jim  !  we  fear  he  was  a  lost  one. 
Not  long  after  he  had  quitted   school, 
he  was  detected  in  thieving  on  one  of 
9* 


102  ROSANNA; 

the  wharves,  and  conveyed  to  the  House 
for  Juvenile  Offenders. 

We  must  now  renew  our  acquain- 
tance, slight  as  it  was,  with  Mrs.  Jones. 
After  she  had  visited  the  families  in  the 
yard,  and  given  them  the  opportunity 
of  sending  their  children  to  the  Infant 
School,  she  ceased  to  think  much  upon 
the  subject ;  yet  the  image  of  Susan  and 
the  little  suffering  Lizzy,  with  the  young 
and  destitute  mother,  sometimes  crossed 
her  mind.  She  wondered  how  they 
went  on,  and  would  have  given  them 
money,  if  she  had  not  known  that  it 
would  be  an  injury  to  them.  One  day, 
however,  on  visiting  the  Infant  School 
again,  she  was  struck  with  Susan's  bloom- 
ing, happy  face,  with  her  glossy,  light- 
brown  hair,  neatly  braided,  and  tied  up  at 
the  sides  with  bows  of  blue  ribbon;  and 
she  remembered  the  contrast  of  her  shab- 
by, ragged  appearance,  when  she  first 
saw  her.  She  called  the  child  to  her,  and 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  103 

questioned  her  about  her  mother.  Su- 
san's answers  were  as  indistinct  as  her 
knowledge.  She  said,  "  she  went  away 
and  did  not  come  back,  but  sent  Lizzy 
her  shoe ;  and  it  slept  with  Lizzy  every 
night ;  and  Lizzy  cried  because  she 
was  drownded" 

Mrs.  Jones's  curiosity  was  again 
awakened,  and  once  more  she  deter- 
mined to  visit  the  yard.  Susan  natural- 
ly led  her  to  Aunt  Dora's  ten-foot  build- 
ing. She  there  heard  the  melancholy 
story  of  Rosanna's  disappearance. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Jones, 
"  that  she  drowned  herself  1 " 

"  No !  ma'am,"  said  Dora,  "  I  can't 
think  she  was  left  to  it,  and  to  throw 
her  children  upon  the  wide  world.  But 
a  blessing  has  come  to  me  along  with 
'em.  I  never  had  such  good  day's-works 
and  ready  pay,  as  since  she  drownded 
herself." 


104  ROSANNA; 

"  Then  you  think  she  did,"  said  Mrs. 
Jones. 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  I  can't  think  so ;  but  I 
may  as  well  say  that  as  any  thing  else." 

"  What  was  the  story  Susan  told  me 
about  the  mother's  sending  Lizzy  her 
shoe?" 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  she  's  but  a  child  ;  she 
did  n't  mean  to  deceive  you.  No, 
ma'am  !  Mrs.  Corny  found  the  shoe,  and 
that 's  what  makes  her  think  poor  Rosy 
was  drownded ;  more  particularly,  as  we 
never  heard  a  word  about  her  from  that 
day  to  this." 

Mrs.  Jones  determined  to  go  and  see 
Mrs.  Corny,  and  make  more  inquiries. 
She  fortunately  found  her  at  home,  and 
less  besotted  by  drink  than  usual.  She 
very  willingly  told  all  she  knew,  and 
repeated  Rosanna's  last  conversation. 

"  I  feel  deeply  interested,"  said  Mrs. 
Jones,  "  in  the  fate  of  this  poor  woman." 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  replied  Catty  ; 


OR   SCENES  IN   BOSTON.  105 

"  I  told  her  so ;  but  when  I  offered  to 
go  and  tell  you,  she  took  on  like  a  mad 
creature,  and  said,  your  eyes  was  so 
bright  she  could  not  bear  to  see  'em." 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  said  Mrs. 
Jones. 

"  Varry,  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Catty ; 
"  for  if  she  'd  only  told  you  about  it,  I 
was  sure  you  'd  ha'  helped  her." 

"  About  what  ?  "   asked    Mrs.  Jones. 

"  Why,  about  her  and  Jerry's  first 
stopping  with  you." 

The  truth  at  once  flashed  across  Mrs. 
Jones's  mind.  "  This  was  Rosanna, 
then,"  said  she ;  "  the  pretty,  modest 
Irish  girl  that  lived  with  me  ?  " 

"  The  varry  same,  ma'am." 

"  No  wonder  that  I  did  not  know  her, 
so  changed !  and  yet  there  was  some- 
thing that  reminded  me  of  somebody  I 
had  seen  before.  And  Susan,  too  ;  she 
is  the  image  of  what  her  mother  once 
was." 


106  ROSANNA; 

"  Grief  changes  us  all,"  said  Catty ; 
"I  am  as  much  changed  as  Rosanna. 
I  have  had  great  trouble  since  you  was 
here.  You  remember  my  Jim,  ma'am  ; 
a  handier  and  a  better  boy  there  never 
was  born ;  but  they  Ve  dragged  him  off 
yonder,  only  for  taking  a  handful  of 
nuts ; "  and  she  began  sobbing  and 
wailing. 

Mrs.  Jones,  after  ascertaining  the  little 
she  could  about  poor  Rosanna,  went  im- 
mediately herself,  to  the  Boar's  Head 
Tavern.  Her  errand  was  one  of  mercy  ; 
and  she  did  not  stop  to  think  "what 
folks  would  say" 

By  this  prompt  step  she  gained  some 
information  that  might  be  important. 
The  boy,  who  saw  her  go  down  to  the 
wharf,  remembered  there  was  a  riot  soon 
after.  With  this  intelligence  she  re- 
turned home. 


OR   SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  107 


CHAPTER  V. 

"Fill  our  souls  with  heavenly  light, 
Banish  doubt  and  clear  our  sight; 
In  thy  service,  Lord,  to-day, 
May  we  work,  and  watch,  and  pray." 

MRS.  JONES'S  interest  with  regard  to 
Rosanna's  fate  was  now  fully  excited. 
All  her  good  qualities,  which  had  made 
her  unwilling  to  part  with  her,  rose  to 
her  mind.  Both  she  and  her  husband 
were  aware,  that  two  young  foreigners, 
in  a  strange  land,  stood  a  poor  chance 
of  earning  enough  to  support  the  addi- 
tional expenses  of  a  family.  Mr.  Jones 
advised  them  to  deposit  all  the  wages 
they  could  spare  in  the  Savings  Bank; 
and  at  the  end  of  two  years,  if  they  be- 


108  ROSANMA; 

haved  well  during  that  time,  he  promised 
to  give  his  consent  to  their  marriage,  and 
to  put  them  in  a  way  of  useful  and  steady 
labor.  Jerry  was  overcome  with  this 
kind  advice,  and  acknowledged  its  wis- 
dom with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  said  "  he 
desired  nothing  better."  Rosanna,  to 
the  same  representation,  made  by  Mrs. 
Jones,  replied,  "  that  it  was  n't  her  doings 
about  being  married  ;  that  she  was  quite 
contented  as  she  was,  and  never  so  hap- 
py nor  so  well  off  before;  and  if  it  was  n't 
that  Jerry  would  be  offended,  she  should 
like  to  live  with  her,  (if  Jerry  could  drive 
the  carriage,)  till  the  day  of  her  death." 
One  month  after,  they  were  married ! 
We  need  not  go  over  the  fatal  termina- 
tion of  this  union ;  it  has  been  already 
told.  Jerry's  habits  soon  became  those 
of  confirmed  intemperance,  and  Mr. 
Jones  saw  him  no  more. 

When  his  wife  mentioned  to  him  Rosan- 
na's  disappearance,  his  humane  feelings 
were  engaged  on  the  subject.  He  did 


OR  SCENES  IN  BOSTON.  109 

not  believe  that  she  had  put  an  end  to 
her  existence ;  and,  with  the  little  infor- 
mation that  his  wife  had  gained,  be  be- 
gan his  investigation. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Jones  contin- 
ued her  visits  to  Dora.  Lizzy,  though 
still  emaciated,  was  far  more  comfortable 
than  could  have  been  expected.  She 
was  able  to  assist  Mrs.  McCree  in  some 
of  her  household  cares  and  gave  evi- 
dence of  a  maturity  of  mind  beyond  her 
years. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  ma'am,"  said 
Dora,  "  she  can  read  better  than  them 
that 's  a-going  every  day  to  school." 

"  And  an't  that,"  said  Lizzy,  "  'cause 
of  Mary  Corny  ?  She  is  so  kind  to  me, 
she  comes  arter  school,  and  tells  me  over 
all  the  lessons ;  and  when  Betsey  and 
Susan  and  the  others  are  playing,  she 
comes  and  sits  with  me.  She  knows 
every  thing.  Would  you  like,"  said  she, 
"  to  hear  the  little  hymn  she  taught  me." 
10 


110  ROSANNA; 

Mrs.  Jones  assented ;  and,  with  a  low, 
sweet  voice,  the  child  began. 

"  Come,  said  Jesus'  sacred  voice, 

Come,  and  make  my  paths  your  choice  ; 
I  will  guide  you  to  your  home  ; 
Little  children,  hither  come." 

She  stopped,  and  pressed  her  hand 
upon  her  side.  "I  can't  sing  but  one 
verse  at  a  time,"  said  she ;  "  it  makes  me 
have  a  pain." 

"Ma'am,"  said  Dora,  "  she  is  a  sur- 
prising child ;  I  don't  think  she  's  long 
for  this  world.  Do,  Lizzy,  sing  that  song 
you  made  about  your  mother." 

"I  have  tried,"  said  she,  "but  it  won't 
sing  like  the  hymns  Mary  teaches  me ; 
I  will  say  it." 

"  There  was  a  sick  child  who  had  only  one 

mother, 

And  she  loved  her  dearly,  dearly,  dearly  ; 
But  the  mother  's  dead,  she  went  away, — 
When  the  mother  's  gone,  what  for  does  the 

sick  child  stay  !  " 


OR  SCENES  IN   BOSTON.  HI 

Lizzy's  sobs  were  audible  when  she 
finished  her  verse. 

"  She  's  all  the  time  making  them  kind 
of  songs  about  her  mother,"  said  Dora. 
"  Sometimes  I  '11  hear  her  in  the  dead  of 
the  night ;  and  if  any  body  goes  to  take 
the  shoe  away  from  her,  if  she  's  sound 
asleep,  she  wakes  right  up." 

"  God  has  given  you  the  opportunity 
of  doing  great  good  to  these  poor  chil- 
dren," said  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  God  has  always  been  good  to  me," 
said  Dora.  "Ah  !  it  is  better  to  be  in 
God's  hands,  than  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  man." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  you  have 
experienced  no  unkindness  from  your 
fellow  men." 

"  Lizzy,"  said  Dora,  "  the  lady  don't 
want  you  any  more ;  jist  go  into  t'other 
room  to  the  twins." 

"Now,  ma'am,"  said  she,  when  they 
were  alone,  "I  will  jist  say  one  word 


112  ROSANNA; 

about  myself,  though  I  don't  mane  to 
trouble  you.  You  see  me  here  a  poor, 
lonely  widow." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Jones. 

"Well,  for  all  that,  ma'am,  I  have  a 
husband  living." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Mrs.  Jones,  with  sur- 
prise, "  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Now  that 's  jist  the  thing,  ma'am, 
you  must  n't  ask  me,  'cause  it  is  n't  hon- 
est nor  respectable  to  be  telling  you." 

"I  cannot  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Jones, 
"  that  one  who  so  faithfully  fulfils  her 
duties,  as  you  do  to  your  own  children 
and  these  poor  devoted  ones,  and  who 
seems  to  be  a  pious  Christian,  can  be 
wanting  in  the  duties  of  a  wife." 

"  There  's  things  that  a  body  can't 
talk  about,"  said  Dora,  "  'cause  it  '11  do 
no  good,  and  it  's  no  matter ;  for  God 
knows  all,  and  God  's  our  judge  in  heav- 
en, though  man  's  our  judge  on  earth. 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  113 

Ah !  ma'am,  my  husband  is  in  prison  for 
life ! " 

"  For  what  crime  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jones. 

"It  is  a  long  and  a  sad  story,  and  may 
be  ye  would  n't  think  him  so  much  to 
blame,  if  I  was  to  tell  it ;  but  I  can't,  I 
can't,"  said  she,  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
forehead. 

"  If  I  cannot  be  of  any  service  to  you, 
you  are  right  not  to  talk  on  a  subject 
that  seems  to  distress  you  so  much," 
said  Mrs.  Jones  kindly  ;  "  but  there  is 
one  thing  in  which  I  can  help  you  ;  I  will 
pay  for  the  board  of  these  poor  children." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say,  that  Dora 
thankfully  accepted  the  offer,  though  she 
had  so  cheerfully  adopted  them  without 
the  prospect  of  recompense. 

Another  week  passed  away.  One 
evening,  after  the  children  were  all 
asleep,  Dora  heard  a  low  tap  at  the  door. 
Catty  often  came  in  to  sit  an  hour,  and 
Mrs.  McCree  encouraged  her  to  do  so,  in 
10* 


114  ROSANNAj 

the  hope  of  doing  her  good  by  friendly 
advice.  She  saw  at  once,  however,  when 
a  woman  entered,  that  it  was  not  Catty. 
The  woman  sat  down,  as  if  unable  to 
stand,  and  threw  back  her  hood. 

"  God  above !  it 's  Rosy  !  "  exclaimed 
Dora. 

"Yes,  it  is  she  herself,"  said  Rosan- 
na  ;  "  are  my  darlings  well  ?  " 

"You  may  see  'em  with  your  own 
eyes  in  the  t'other  room,"  said  Dora. 
"Ah!  Rosy,  you  want  the  comfort  of 
their  swate  faces,  I  see  by  your  own 
pale  one." 

"  I  will  jist  look  upon  'em,"  said  Ro- 
sanna ;  and  in  a  moment  she  was  by 
their  side. 

What  shall  restrain  a  mother's  love  1 
She  had  meant  not  to  wake  them ;  but 
in  a  moment  her  arms  were  folded  round 
Lizzy,  and  her  tears  falling  like  rain. 
"My  child !  my  child!"  was  all  she  could 
utter.  Lizzy  opened  her  eyes,  and  im- 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  115 

mediately  knew  her  mother.  She  laid 
her  little  head  on  her  bosom. 

"  Have  you  come  for  me  ?  we  will  go 
together,"  said  she.  "  Now  I  am  happy." 

That  night  Rosanna,  feeble  and  ex- 
hausted, parted  not  from  her  children, 
but  slept  between  them,  with  an  arm 
round  each,  and  Lizzy  closely  pressed 
to  her  bosom. 

Dora,  once  in  the  night,  went  from  her 
own  bed  to  look  upon  them.  There 
were  the  lines  of  deep  suffering  on  Ro- 
sanna's  face.  She  was  greatly  emaciat- 
ed; but  still  the  expression  was  sweet 
and  tranquil.  Earnestly  Dora  prayed, 
that  no  new  tale  of  horror  or  guilt  might 
meet  her  ear.  Yet  where  could  she  have 
been  thus  long? 

In  the  morning  the  violence  of  Rosan- 
na's  emotions  were  past.  The  children 
were  sent  to  school,  and  Lizzy,  full  of 
happiness,  was  watching  over  the  twins. 
In  a  low  voice  Rosanna  related  to  Dora 
her  story. 


116  ROSANNA; 

"  Where  will  I  begin?"  said  she.  " I 
have  not  courage ;  you  will  cast  me  off!" 

"  Rosy,"  said  Dora,  "  by  this  blessed 
crucifix,"  and  she  pulled  it  from  her  bo- 
som and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  "  if  ye 
come  innocent,  if  ye  've  not  gone  hand 
in  hand  with  guilt  and  infamy,  if  ye  have 
not,"  said  she,  hesitatingly,  "  trusted  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  your  fellow  men,  I 
will  never  cast  ye  off.  If  ye  Jve  a  tale  of 
guilt  and  misconduct  to  reveal,  tell  it  not 
to  me ;  but  leave  your  innocent  children 
here,  for  them  /  never  will  cast  off" 

"  You  give  me  courage  to  tell  my  sto- 
ry," said  Rosanna,  "for  God  has  pre- 
served me  from  the  guilt  you  mane. 
I  remember,  arter  I  left  the  Boar's 
Head  Tavern,  I  thought  Lizzy  was  cry- 
ing for  me.  I  wanted  to  go  home ;  but 
I  had  been  drinking  rum  with  Catty. 
My  senses  were  all  in  a  whirl.  I  missed 
the  way,  and  went  down  the  wharf ;  the 
air  was  fresh,  and  the  sea  came  foaming 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  117 

up,  jist  as  when  I  came  in  the  ship  from 
Ireland.  I  wanted  to  be  on  the  waves. 
I  thought  I  would  jump  into  them,  and 
then  I  remembered  what  you  said,  Do- 
ra ;  'After  death  comes  the  judg- 
ment ; '  and  I  was  afraid.  Jist  then, 
there  came  a  great  screaming  and  shout- 
ing ;  somebody  laid,  hold  of  me ;  I  tried 
to  get  away.  I  did  n't  know  any  more 
then,  nor  a  great  while  arter.  One  morn- 
ing, I  waked  up ;  I  believed  I  had 
been  asleep.  I  was  all  alone  in  a  little 
room,  with  only  one  bed.  I  called  my 
children ;  they  were  not  there.  Pres- 
ently, two  men  came  in ;  one  said,  '  She 
is  better ;  she  has  found  her  senses.' 
I  asked  where  I  was ;  and  he  said, 
'  You  are  sick ;  I  am  the  doctor  come 
to  see  you ;  behave  well,  and  no  harm 
shall  come  to  you.'  Oh,  Dora !  where 
do  you  think  I  was  ?  In  the  House  of 
Correction !  Yes,  they  had  put  me 
there,  with  them  that  was  in  the  riot. 


118  ROSANNA; 

I  need  not  tell  you  any  more  about 
that ;  'cause  I  don't  know.  Mrs.  Jones 
will  tell  you  all." 

"  Mrs.  Jones !  "  said  Dora,  surprised ; 
"  why,  how  does  she  know  ?  " 

"  She  found  out  all  about  it,  and  come 
to  see  me ;  and  it  is  owing  to  her,  that 
I  am.  here.  I  was  condemned  to  six 
months'  labor  in  the  House  of  Cor- 
rection. That  was  the  sentence ;  but  it 
an't  but  two  since  I  went  away." 

Mr.  Jones  had  been  indefatigable  in 
tracing  out  the  fate  of  Rosanna.  This, 
he  at  length  accomplished.  She  had 
been  taken  up  as  one  of  the  rioters. 
After  a  careful  examination,  but  little  ev- 
idence could  be  obtained  with  regard  to 
her.  The  excessive  quantity  of  rum  she 
had  taken  had  stupefied  her  senses. 
On  the  score  of  drunkenness,  no  evi- 
dence was  wanting.  She  could  give  no 
account  of  herself,  or  of  her  place  of  resi- 
dence; and,  when  questioned  as  to  her 


OR  SCENES   IN   BOSTON.  119 

name,  she  sometimes  called  herself  Liz- 
zy, and  sometimes  Rosanna.  Her  in- 
capacity of  answering  questions  was 
ascribed  to  sullenness  and  guilt.  She 
was  sentenced  to  six  months'  impris- 
onment for  drunkenness.  When  she 
was  conveyed  to  the  House  of  Correc- 
tion, her  illness  soon  became  apparent. 
She  was  in  a  high  fever,  that  had  set- 
tled on  the  brain.  Amidst  the  wander- 
ings of  her  reason,  it  was  evident,  that 
she  was  not  a  hardened  offender;  but 
the  sin  of  drunkenness  had  been  fully 
proved  against  her;  and  this  rendered 
her  a  fit  subject  for  the  place.  When 
she  was  well  enough  to  work,  she  was 
put  into  the  work-room.  She  was  si- 
lent, retired,  and  obedient.  She  re- 
fused all  association  with  the  miserable 
women  around  her,  whose  language 
shocked  and  terrified  her.  In  this  state, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones  found  her;  and, 
through  their  testimony,  she  was  re- 
leased. 


120  ROSANNA; 

The  two  months,  that  Rosanna  had 
been  debarred  from  liquor,  were  salu- 
tary to  her  mind.  She  realized,  to  what 
this  dreadful  habit  had  brought  her; 
how  near  she  had  been  to  death,  by 
intoxication.  Nor  was  there  wanting 
pious  counsel,  to  those  who  would  lis- 
ten ;  for  the  Sundays  were  days  of  re- 
ligious instruction.  Oh!  would  to  God, 
that  our  prisons  might  become  places 
of  reform,  rather  than  punishment ! 
Solemn,  though  secret,  were  her  reso- 
lutions never  again  to  put  the  poison  to 
her  lips,  in  any  form  whatever. 

Nobody  rejoiced  more  sincerely  than 
Catty  in  Rosanna's  return ;  which  she 
would  gladly  have  celebrated  in  her 
usual  way,  by  a  thimble-full.  When  she 
found,  that  her  entreaties  were  declined, 
she  told  her,  "  her  room  was  all  ready, 
jist  as  she  left  it ;  and  she  never  would 
ask  her  for  a  cent  of  pay,  she  was  so 
glad  to  get  her  dear  Rosy  back." 


*         • 

OR    SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  121 

"  I  thank  you  more  than  I  can  say," 
replied  Rosanna,  "  for  all  your  kind  af- 
fection to  me.  You  took  me  up  when  I 
was  houseless  and  nobody  minded  me ; 
but,  oh !  Catty,  when  ye  meant  to  be 
kind,  ye've  been  cruel.  But  ye  are 
more  cruel  to  yourself  and  your  inno- 
cent ones.  Oh !  dear,  dear  Catty !  let 
us  both  resolve  never  to  touch  the  poi- 
son, never  to  let  it  enter  our  dwellings. 
Will  ye  not  join  me,  dear,  dear  friend, 
in  a  solemn  resolution  ?  " 

"  I  can't,"  said  Catty. 

"  Why  not  ?  "   asked  Rosanna. 

"  Because,  dear,  I  would  n't  kape  it. 
It 's  now  more  than  ten  years,  that  I  've 
known  the  cratur;  and  I  can't  give  it 
up.  I  am  poor,  and  have  no  friends ; 
and  sometimes  my  children  are  crying 
for  bread,  and  I  can't  get  a  day's  work ; 
and  the  cratur's  my  comfort." 

"  Oh,  Catty !  and  what  makes  ye  poor  ? 
what  made  me  so,  but  that  same  cratur  ? 
11 


122  ROSANNA; 

and   what    makes    us     friendless,    but 
that  ?  " 

"  Well !  say  no  more  about  it  now, 
dear;  I  must  tell  you  all  about  poor 
Jim."  And  the  sad  story  was  again  re- 
peated. 

Rosanna  listened  with  the  most  heart- 
felt sympathy  to  Catty's  trouble. 

"Do  ye  not  see,"  said  she,  "that  if 
Jim  had  been  going  steady  to  school,  he 
would  not  have  been  in  the  way  of 
staling?"  py 

"Now  who  would  call  taking  a  hand- 
ful of  nuts,  staling  ?  "  said  Catty.  "  As 
for  his  not  going  to  school,  it  all  comes 
of  their  doings ;  if  they  had  n't  worried 
the  poor  boy  about  lessons  and  all  that, 
and  had  coaxed  him  a  little,  as  I  told  'em 
to  their  faces,  they  might  have  had  him 
now  ;  as  for  his  liking  a  little  bit  of  a  drink 
when  he  was  a-dry,  I  wonder  where  was 
the  harm  of  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Catty  !  do  ye  not  see  the  harm 


OR   SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  123 

of  that!  Have  you  not  seen  it  in  me? 
Was  n't  I  once  so  different  from  what  I 
am  now  ?  " 

"  Rosy,"  said  Catty,  with  as  much  re- 
sentment as  her  habitual  good-nature 
would  allow,  "  I  don't  take  it  kind  in  you 
to  be  praching  to  me  in  this  way.  I  get 
enough  of  that  from  the  priest,  which  is 
the  great  rason  I  never  mind  to  go  near 
him ;  and  now  I  must  say,  that  I  don't 
think  it  quite  handsome  in  you  to  take 
the  very  words  out  of  his  mouth  and 
throw  'em  at  me." 

"I  never  heard  him  say  a  word  to 
you,"  said  Rosanna,  "  in  all  my  life." 

"How  should  you?"  said  Catty, 
"  when  I  have  n't  been  near  him  before 
the  time  you  come  here.  But  I  minded 
what  he  said  to  me  when  I  saw  him  last ; 
jist  what  you  did,  about  the  cratur's 
making  me  poor  and  frindless." 

"  And  is  n't  it  all  true  ?  "  said  Rosan- 
na, "  and  has  n't  it  brought  me  to  the 


0 

124  ROSANNA; 

House  of  Correction,  and  what  has  n't  it 
done  for  poor  Jim  1  Oh  !  Catty,  may  be 
I  should  n't  have  the  resolution  I  feel 
now,  like  the  little  hymn  your  swate 
Mary  sings,  to  '  taste  it  not,'  if  it  was  n't 
for  my  darlings." 

"May  be  you  '11  alter  your  mind," 
said  Catty. 

"  God  will  help  me  to  keep  it,"  replied 
Rosanna,  "  if  I  pray  to  him  morning  and 
night." 

"But  you  '11  grow  sleepy,  and  then 
you  wont  think  of  praying,"  said  Catty. 
"  Sometimes  when  I  come  home  after  a 
day's  work,  I  lay  down  anywhere,  and 
sleep  so  sound  I  don't  remember  any 
thing." 

"  Oh,  Catty ! "  said  Rosanna,  « I  know 
what  them  deep  sleeps  mane,  —  I  have 
had  'em  too  often,  — they  an't  the  natu- 
ral, healthy  sleep  that  God  sends  after  a 
day's  honest  labor.  No  wonder  they 


OR  SCENES  IN   BOSTON.  125 

make  us  forget  to  pray  to  him,  when  we 
forget  our  own  children." 

"Nobody  can  say  that  of  me,"  said 
Catty,  "for  I  am  always  a-thinking  of 
'em.  And  I  have  n't  had  a  moment's 
comfort  since  they  carried  off  my  darling 
Jim." 

"  Ye  must  hope,"  said  Rosanna,  "  that 
he  will  be  better  for  it ;  it  may  be  the 
manes  of  saving  him  from  thieving." 

« Who  'd  think,"  said  Catty,  "  that 
you  bore  such  a  grudge  to  poor  Jim,  all 
for  his  happening  to  break  Lizzy's  collar- 
bone, when  it  was  a  mere  accident." 

"  You  do  me  wrong,  Catty,"  replied 
Rosanna  meekly.  "I  bear  no  grudge 
to  Jim ;  I  was  more  to  blame  than  he,  for 
leaving  her ;  but  my  punishment  is 
heavy,  —  she  can  never  be  well  again." 
Her  tears  fell  abundantly  as  she  spoke, 
and  Catty  forgot  her  resentment  at  once. 

"May  be  you  would  not  like  it,"  said 
she,  "  if  I  was  to  offer  you  a  thimble-full 
11* 


126  ROSANNA; 

now  ;  but  any  time,  Rosy,  when  you  feel 
a-dry,  if  I  have  any,  you  are  welcome  to 
it." 

It  seems  to  be  the  order  of  Provi- 
dence, that  we  should  be  admonished 
through  our  very  transgressions.  The 
distrust  that  Catty  so  evidently  felt  of 
Rosanna's  persevering  in  her  resolution, 
made  the  latter  more  vigilant  and  watch- 
ful over  herself.  The  future  prospect  was 
still  dark  for  her.  Her  health  was  fee- 
ble, and  her  chance  of  earning  a  decent 
living,  precarious ;  yet  she  steadily  de- 
termined not  to  return  to  her  former 
abode,  or  put  herself  in  the  way  of 
temptation.  Mrs.  Jones,  after  weighing 
the  matter  in  her  own  mind,  proposed 
taking  her  for  a  time  into  her  family  as 
a  chambermaid ;  there  she  would  not 
only  be  removed  from  former  influences, 
but  be  in  the  way  of  recovering  her  ear- 
ly habits  of  neatness  and  industry.  It 
was  a  hard  struggle  for  Rosanna  to  part 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  127 

from  Lizzy,  even  for  a  few  months ;  but 
Mrs.  Jones  was  fully  convinced,  that,  for 
the  present,  both  she  and  Susan  would 
be  better  off  under  Dora's  care,  who 
considered  the  money  for  the  children's 
board  a  God-send. 

There  are  virtues  which  are  sure  of 
finding  their  reward  on  earth,  such  as 
temperance,  industry,  meekness,  and 
compassion.  On  these  our  Saviour  has 
pronounced  his  blessing.  But  it  is  not 
on  earth  that  we  are  to  look  for  exemp- 
tion from  suffering.  Poor  Dora!  it  had 
come  to  her  through  the  misconduct 
of  her  nearest  friend ;  and,  though  it 
was  a  sorrow  hard  to  bear,  it  was  not 
mingled  with  the  most  bitter  of  all  afflic- 
tions, remorse.  She  had  the  serenity 
of  a. conscience  at  peace,  and  this  dif- 
fused an  atmosphere  of  love  and  peace 
around  her. 

Lizzy's  health  improves  under  the  af- 
fectionate  and  judicious   care   of   aunt 


128  ROSANNA; 

Dora ;  Rosanna  has  the  privilege  of  pass- 
ing many  hours  with  her  children.  She 
has  laid  aside  her  cap,  her  hair  is  neatly 
combed  and  braided,  and  her  cloak  now 
is  only  worn  for  comfort  and  warmth, 
and  not  to  conceal  a  dirty  or  shabby 
dress.  Any  one  who  may  chance  to 
meet  her  in  the  street,  would  say  at 
once,  "That  is  a  neat,  industrious,  tem- 
perate Irish  woman ;  would  that  the  old 
country  would  send  us  many  such ! " 

We  hope  those  who  have  gone  along 
with  us  in  our  story,  will  be  convinced 
that  Dora  was  a  "poor  wise  woman." 
The  truth  is,  she  possessed  no  greater 
treasure  than  Catty,  and  she  had  more 
mouths  to  feed ;  for  Catty  had  but  three 
children,  and  Dora  five.  She  had  lately 
come  a  stranger  to  Boston,  and,  there- 
fore, had  not  had  the  same  opportunity 
of  making  friends.  As  she  never  men- 
tioned the  particulars  of  her  melancholy 
story,  we  do  not  think  it  right  to  lay 


OK    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  129 

them  before  the  public ;  but  thus  much 
we  feel  authorized  to  say,  that  she  was 
living  in  New  York,  when  her  husband, 
in  a  night  of  frolic  and  intemperance, 
was  induced  to  join  dissolute  companions 
in  setting  fire  to  a  barn.  He  was  tried, 
convicted,  and  sentenced  for  life  to  the 
Sing- Sing  prison.  His  protestations  of 
"  maning  no  harm,"  and  only  doing  it  for 
a  frolic,  were  poor  arguments  to  extenu- 
ate a  crime  which  endangered  the  lives 
and  property  of  thousands.  Dora  had 
now  but  one  object  left,  to  bring  up  her 
children  in  the  "  fear  of  God,"  which  "  is 
the  beginning  of  wisdom."  It  was  her 
first  wish,  that  they  might  be  spared  the 
agony  of  knowing  that  their  father  was  a 
convict  for  life  ;  and  she  found,  if  she 
remained  where  the  crime  was  perpe- 
trated, this  could  not  be  avoided.  She 
therefore  took  her  children  and  came  to 
Boston.  For  a  short  time,  the  oldest 
ones  talked  about  their  father ;  but  they 


130  ROSANNA; 

soon  forgot  his  existence,  and  Dora  never 
alluded  to  him,  except  in  the  mention  to 
Mrs.  Jones.  Every  one  supposed  her  to 
be  a  widow. 

She  did  not  suffer  this  terrible  afflic- 
tion to  unfit  her  for  the  duties  of  life; 
much  less  did  she  try  to  drown  her  sor- 
rows in  the  poisonous  bowl.  We  have 
said  her  first  thoughts  were  for  her  chil- 
dren. That  she  might  be  faithful  in  her 
care  of  them,  she  rose  very  early,  and 
always  had  a  tub  of  water  ready  to  wash 
them.  This  is  all  that  is  necessary ;  for, 
when  children  are  accustomed  to  it,  they 
learn  to  love  it,  and  will  splash  about  in 
it  like  so  many  ducks. 

Now  Dora  never  said,  "Take  care, 
children,  not  to  let  the  water  go  on  the 
floor ; "  for  she  thought  water  very  good 
for  the  floor,  and  she  taught  the  older 
ones  to  wipe  it  up  properly.  Catty  was 
always  wondering  how  Mrs.  M°Cree 
could  get  so  much  time  for  "claning." 


OR    SCENES   IN    BOSTON.  131 

One  of  her  ways  was,  being  up  betimes 
in  the  morning.  She  had  three  or  four 
more  hours  of  daylight  in  summer  than 
her  neighbour ;  so  that  in  a  week  she 
gained  about  twenty-eight  hours.  She 
said,  very  truly,  we  ought  not  to  com- 
plain of  the  want  of  time  till  we  have 
used  up  what  we  have. 

Another  complaint  that  Catty  made 
was  about  Mrs.  McCree's  living.  She 
said,  she  could  not,  for  her  part,  under- 
stand how  a  poor  woman  could  afford 
dishes,  of  which  the  steam  only  made 
one's  mouth  water;  for  she  must  say, 
she  never  had  been  invited  to  a  taste  of 
them. 

Now  it  was  a  fact,  that  if  all  the  cents 
and  four-pence-half-pennies,  that  the  two 
women  spent,  had  been  set  down  on 
paper,  it  would  have  been  found  that 
Catty's  living  cost  much  the  most,  to  say 
nothing  about  drink,  which,  like  Aaron's 
rod,  swallowed  up  all  other  comforts. 


132  ROSANNA; 

Mrs.  Corny  and  her  children  were  very 
fond  of  butter  ;  and,  as  she  could  not  af- 
ford to  buy  good,  she  generally  bought 
every  day  a  slice  of  rancid  butter,  wrap- 
ped up  in  a  piece  of  newspaper.  "  The 
poor  things,  too,"  she  said,  "liked  what 
she  liked ;  and,  as  she  must  have  them 
herself,  it  was  hard  if  they  could  not." 

Now  Mrs.  McCree  had  never  taught 
her  children  to  like  things  that  were  not 
wholesome,  by  having  them  for  herself; 
and,  as  to  the  savory  dishes  which  ex- 
cited so  much  astonishment,  and  some 
envy  in  Catty,  a  quarter  part  of  what 
she  spent  for  rancid  butter,  would  have 
provided  such  a  one  for  herself  almost 
every  day. 

As  Dora  was  a  good  economist,  it 
may  be  very  well  to  mention  one  of  her 
dishes.  Frequently,  after  a  day's  work, 
she  had  the  remains  of  the  dinner  given 
to  her,  perhaps  a  bone  of  beef  or  mut- 
ton; of  this,  she  made  a  stew  for  the 


OR    SCENES    IN    BOSTON.  133 

next  day,  adding  sliced  potatoes,  cab- 
bage, and  an  onion. 

What  became  of  the  cold  victuals 
given  to  Catty,  we  have  already  seen. 
They  were  thrown  into  a  promiscuous 
heap,  the  family  selecting  from  it  such  ar- 
ticles as  they  liked,  till  even  Catty  was 
admonished,  by  one  of  her  senses,  that 
it  had  better  be  removed. 

One  of  Catty's  favorite  quotations 
was,  that  "Every  body  must  eat  a  peck 
of  dirt,  before  they  die."  There  is  little 
doubt  but  she  has  eaten  much  more 
than  her  allowance ;  indeed,  we  believe 
the  little  Cornys  have  every  one  of  them 
already  eaten  their  peck. 

Rosanna  continues  to  improve  under 
Mrs.  Jones's  care ;  but,  as  she  has  a 
real  affection  for  Catty,  with  all  her 
faults,  she  has  laid  a  plan  with  Dora,  for 
the  sake  of  the  poor  children.  The 
owner  of  the  house  that  Mrs.  Corny 
occupies,  has  consented  to  have  it  put 
12 


134    ROSANNA;  OR   SCENES  IN  BOSTON. 

into  neat  and  comfortable  order  in  the 
spring,  and  Dora  and  Rosanna  are  to 
hire  the  two  rooms  and  the  attics  above, 
and  Catty  is  to  move  into  Dora's  ten- 
foot  building.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones 
approve  of  this  plan,  and  feel  confidence 
in  Rosanna's  good  conduct.  Her  great 
object  is  to  have  an  eye  upon  Catty's 
children.  The  two  girls  are  favorites  at 
the  Infant  School ;  and  Rosanna  is  sure, 
that,  with  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  Jim, 
when  he  returns,  may  yet  be  saved  from 
drunkenness  and  vice. 

We  conclude  with  the  words  of  Sol- 
omon, the  royal  preacher ;  "  Then  said  I, 
Wisdom  is  better  than  strength,  better 
than  weapons  of  war ;  but  one  sinner 
destroyeth  much  good." 


THE    END. 


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